


flash fires

by viridae



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gun Violence, I'll add more tags as the story progresses, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Raven!Neil, Slow Burn, god I love this fic, rebellion AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridae/pseuds/viridae
Summary: When Nathaniel runs from Evermore at fifteen with his mother, he doesn't expect his life to last much longer- until Kevin Day, a renowned gunman-turned-rebel, and Andrew Minyard, an orphan-turned-assassin, show up in Millport, Arizona, to recruit him for the Palmetto Foxes' rebellion.Suddenly confronted with defying and rebelling against the Moriyamas and his father, Neil Josten is forced to barter and trade away his truths one by one in order to stay alive.





	1. New God

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm going to attempt a chaptered fic- because why the hell not, right? 
> 
> There's going to be a LOT of violence though, this is a rebellion au after all, and lots of mentions of guns and gun violence (I know that's a tricky topic for a lot of people, so be warned). And also some mentions of blood, so if you're squeamish- yeah, I would avoid. 
> 
> I don't have a full list of triggers/warnings yet, but canon-typical violence is pretty spot on.
> 
> This is also unbeta'd, so sorry in advance for any grammar mistakes.

There is a stretch of highway that lines the ocean on the California coast that, at two AM on a peaceful June morning, is usually silent.

Two cars screech by and break that silence. A black SUV trails a Honda mercilessly. Tires screech, they both swerve, and then as they pass, just like that, the highway is quiet again.

The highway is _not_ quiet for Alex and his mother.

Their car speeds forward, past the point where Alex can comfortably break without flipping them. His hands are iron on the wheel, clenched there and glued down with sweat and dried blood. A black SUV trails them and is speeding, and can go impossibly faster than them.

In the passenger seat, Beth is bleeding out from a gunshot in her shoulder, and is stitching it up with dental floss and a sewing needle, and gritting her teeth to block out the pain. The SUV drives up next to them, and Alex floors it, breathing heavily, when a peppering of bullets sprays through the driver’s side window and incredibly, only one hits Alex’s shoulder.

“Jerk the wheel,” Beth orders, as she lifts a handgun to fire out of the shattered window. All of her shots bar one misses, but it hits its mark well enough, and the SUV swerves dangerously.

“Fuck it,” Alex mutters, and twists the wheel to the left, turning almost sideways in front of the SUV, and the black car is forced to stop to avoid hitting them. A hint of Nathaniel’s smile crawls onto Alex’s face, knowing that they have their orders to take him alive, before his mother meets his eyes. The SUV stops short, flips over the front wheels and barrels past Alex’s car, which he swerved out of the way at the very last second. Black skid marks burn into the pavement. Their right wheels skitter off the road for a terrifying moment, dragging across sharp rocks, before it shudders and catapults back onto the main road. In the (mostly) shattered rear view mirror, Alex watches the SUV roll once over, stop, and catches the moment the driver exits to pull a cellphone out.

Moriyama agents. Alex is sure of it. They know that Alex, or Nathaniel Wesninski, as he is better known, is on his way south down the coast of California. If only the crash had killed the driver, like it had the passenger, but Beth and Alex will never have that luck to escape an encounter free from repercussions.

Beth groans, low but loud in the silent car, and Alex sneaks a glance over, easing up on the gas for a moment.

“Alex,” orders Beth. “Keep driving.”

The pain in his left shoulder is almost too much to bear, but he grits his teeth and keeps driving anyways. His heart pounds faster than it has ever pounded before, and he wishes his heart would slow down, because he can’t afford to lose any more blood than he has already lost. The bullet wound keeps bleeding, down his shirtsleeve into the car upholstery. Beth makes another sound, and his heart momentarily skips a beat before continuing it’s frantic pace again.

No more cars appear on their journey. No lights line the highway except for their own, which Beth quickly tells him to turn off and drive in the dark. Without the light of the moon and the faint glow of the stars Alex can barely recognize, they would be driving in the complete dark.

Beth makes another sound, a low uneven groan that barely emerges from her mouth. It’s unlike Alex’s mother. She is never weak. She never shows pain, or admits to it, or even mentions that pain even exists in their world.

Some age old instinct awakens in the pit of Alex’s stomach. And all of a sudden, the reality hits him- she knows she is dying. She’s known for the last few hours they’ve been driving.

It suits her that Nathan’s men would finally kill her, that he wouldn’t get the satisfaction himself of serving her end.

“Alex, pull over,” She orders. He finally eases up on the frantic pace they’ve been keeping for the past three hours or so. The beach is silent and is only lit by the silver glow of the moon. The sand is wide and open and empty and is marred only by the grooves of their car. Gentle waves lap at the shore and dissolve into gray sand, leaving it wet and still. The beach stretches out and curves around in a peaceful bay, until it finally collapses into muddy cliffs that tumble and carve off into a violent, peaceful ocean.

It’s an oddly peaceful place to die.

She knew she was dying, Alex thinks. Beth meets his eyes, and he sees a pain and a fury behind her blank eyes that he has never seen before.

“Listen to me,” she hisses, the words so quiet and faint that he barely hears them. “Alex, you listen to me and do not forget this.

“Don’t look back. Don’t slow down. Don’t trust anyone.” Her voice grows stronger with each word and the untethered anger shakes her hands and her voice. “Repeat it, Abram.”

“Don’t look back, don’t slow down, don’t trust anyone.” Hot liquid drips down his face. It takes a moment to realize that they are tears.

“Be anyone but yourself, and never be anyone for too long.” Abram is silent until she grips his arm with a vice like strength and grinds out, “ _Repeat it.”_

Abram’s chest heaves up and down. “Be anyone but myself and never be anyone for too long.”

“Again.”

“Don’t look back. Don’t slow down. Don’t trust anyone. Be anyone but myself and never be anyone for too long. Don’t look back, don’t slow down, don’t…”

He trails off.

Her chest is still.

Her eyes are open, unseeing, and mirror the black empty sky.

Abram tries to find air to pull into his lungs, but it barely reaches his mouth. Dead, he thinks. Dead and empty. Like the giant, stretching sky looming over them. Dead and empty.

He tries to pull her out of the car only once, but her skin is glued to the leather with liters of dried blood and the ripping sound as it comes off almost tears Abram apart again. He leaves her there, splashes gasoline over the car, drives it out to the center of the beach and lights a pyre for his mother.

The acrid smoke burns his eyes to the point where he can’t possibly keep them open anymore. Abram digs his hands into wet, cold sand and cries, he cries until his eyes are red and empty just like his mother. He cries until the sun threatens to rise and until his eyes become dry.

The car still burns, glowing a magnificent amber and lighting up the empty stretch of sand for miles. Abram drags out the blackened bones of his mother, charred and burning, and ignores how his palms blister from the heat. He almost rips her backpack open in his haste to shove her black bones into it. Digging down, down, down, until his fingertips are bloody from stones and pink and raw from the sand, he buries her backpack and her bones, her contacts and her weapons, her cellphone and her heart. Abram scrabbles to cover it up again with sand wet from high tide until nothing remained of Mary Hatford Wesninski but her name. Heart pounding in his throat, he kneels up and watches the remains of the car burn until only a husk remained.

He has to keep moving. There was no other option. Sooner or later, if he stayed standing still, someone would come and find him, and take him back.

_Don’t look back. Don’t slow down. Don’t trust anyone. Be anyone but yourself and never be anyone for too long._

Abram grits his teeth together and stands up, chest shaking and head spinning. His hands ache and his stomach is still bleeding from a deep swipe on DiMaccio’s part- he was lucky his abdomen stayed in one piece.

 _Don’t look back._ His mother doesn’t exist anymore. She’s now a memory and that is how she will have to stay- a memory. Abram has to keep moving. He has to keep moving.

He tosses his phone into the remains of the fire. The smoke wafts over to him, and then past him to dissipate over the ocean, until all that is left is the burning in his eyes, and the salty, forbidden tears that track down his face.

Abram gathers the things in his duffel. Checking one last time for anything that could remain of him, he leaves the beach without a glance back.

Neil Josten, he decides, hiking determinedly south. Neil Josten. It has a kind of a ring to it, but it isn’t all that memorable because a lot of people were named Neil these days, and only slightly close to his birth name but not close enough to be noticeable. Common, blends in well with a crowd, and so Neil would stick with that name until he was forced to change to a different one.

Neil Josten, he reminds himself. No more Abram, no more Mary. Only in his memories, and only until she fades away. Neil is on his own now.

He makes his way to a gas station, small and greasy, just outside Mendocino, practically in the middle of nowhere. Neil tugs the grey hood over his face to obscure the sandy blond hair and brown eyes of Alex, and trudges inside to buy two packs of cigarettes with his illegal ID, a lighter, and a carton of hair dye that was deep brown. In the muddy bathroom, he carefully combs hair dye through his hair until his entire appearance is altered. Alex doesn’t exist anymore and neither does Abram.

He shakes his head. Neil needs to keep those names out of his head and out of his mind. Don’t look back, he reminds himself, don’t slow down. He has to keep moving.

He also has to avoid large cities. San Francisco is out of the question- there were too many cameras and it was too easy to slip a government spy into the homeless population. And Jean and Neil had visited San Francisco before to hack out a Moriyama traitor, on the Lord’s command. If they knew that Neil is in California, San Francisco would be the first place they would visit.

So no, the South Bay is out of the question. As is the North- the wealthy elites live there, and too much labor went into the giant desalination plants that gave drinkable water to half the country. Too many people, too many cameras.

West, then, and south are his only options for running.

Sighing heavily, Neil hefts his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder and trudges across the highway, glancing back and forth once before sprinting across. Once he makes it into the brush, he takes a moment to stop, breathe, and catalogue his options.

Option A: Go back to the Moriyamas, and back to Evermore. It’s not like he would get any favors from it- Riko would have a hell of a time making him pay for his mother’s actions- and Ichirou would never trust him again. And he would be going back to his father, and back to Lola Malcolm, for more training. Option A sounds like the least appealing of them all.

Option B: Keep running. Not only would Neil very quickly exhaust the remainder of the five million units his mother stole, but it would also cause him a world of hurt, and eventually he would probably be found and killed, but not before being tortured heavily by his father’s men. Option B also sounds extremely unappealing.

Or, the worst of them yet: Option C, which is for Neil to join a rebellion group. There are several around the country that Neil knows of, including the USC Trojans, which are the closest. There is the ragtag Palmetto Foxes in South Carolina, which would be hell to get to, and then Penn State, which is fairly well run if a bit hierarchical. Neil knows all of them, but he doubts that any would be willing to take _him_ in- the son of Nathan Wesninski, the government’s deadliest soldier, Riko’s subservient assassin, Ichirou Moriyama’s right hand man, the beloved child of the government with too much of the military searching for him. No rebellion group in their right mind would take him in.

Option B it is then. Keep running.

The mantra echoes in the back of his head, raspy with his mother’s last words: _Don’t look back. Don’t slow down. Don’t trust anyone._

Neil won’t look back. Sooner or later he’ll have to go back to his mother’s contacts and get a new ID for Neil Josten, born March 31st, and then he can take a flight to Arizona, maybe?

It’s far enough and in the middle of nowhere.

With his heart heavy and two blistered, red palms, Neil Josten makes it to a Greyhound station just before dusk. There are two other people waiting in line, and they grudgingly pay for their tickets to Phoenix, Arizona. Neil steps in line behind them, makes a joke about how he dyed his hair, and _that’s_ why he looks different than his ID picture, and steps onto the bus. He curls up by the window and ends up sleeping fitfully.

Neil doesn’t usually dream, but when he does, they aren’t very fun.

Today, he dreams of the fire. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Neil burned his mother’s body, burned her phone, and buried her bones in cold wet sand on a beach he doesn’t know the name of and will never return to.

He dreams of Lola’s lipsticked smile as she slashes at him, jumping back to avoid her and darting right into the edge of his father’s cleaver, and being pushed up against the wall with a pit in his stomach knowing that he failed again. He dreams of Kevin’s taunting smile when he scores a shot on Neil and Riko’s knife digging in between his third and fourth ribs, of him carving a three over the kanji on Neil’s back.

He dreams of Beth- Mary Hatford- coming in the middle of the night, ushering him out past the bodies of two guards with their throats slit-

The bus creaks to a stop. Neil wakes up sharply. There are three passengers left on the bus. The sign that the bus just passed reads: Welcome to Phoenix, with a circular emblem of a red bird being engulfed in flames above it.

The heat outside is _awful._ It’s edging close to a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, an ungodly temperature, and within seconds Neil is sweating. The sun beats down on him, it’s almost midday, and Neil knows it will only get hotter from here.

Not to mention that Arizona is an actual desert, and barely anyone lives there anymore- not after half the state became a nuclear test site, spreading radiation everywhere. Neil isn’t too concerned with that- he doubts he has much longer to live, anyways. What difference will some nuclear waste make, after all?

Keeping his head down, Neil shelters under a bright blue awning and catalogues his situation. He needs to find a place to sleep- and he needs a new ID. That’s one of the reasons he came to Phoenix- one of his mother’s contacts is here, and the fifty thousand in cash he has stored in his duffel will easily pay for a driver’s license, a passport, and an Arizona state ID.

He’ll also need to look for a quiet town. Phoenix is much too large- too many cameras, too many crowds, too many spying eyes. His mother’s words echo again in his head- don’t look back, don’t slow down, don’t trust anyone.

At the closest gas station he finds, a few blocks away from where he got off the Greyhound, he picks up a paper map of Arizona and swivels his finger around the page until it lands on a suitably small, relatively far town with just enough of a population to not stand out for being too small and not stand out for being too large.

 _Millport,_ the town reads. It’s thirty miles east of Phoenix. Neil Josten hoists his duffel bag higher onto his arm, tugs down his sleeves, ducks his head, and begins walking.

  


✦✦✦

 

Kevin Day lies on his back in a room with black walls and no windows. Sitting across from him, typing disinterestedly into a silver computer is Riko Moriyama, his adopted brother and fellow psychopath. Slumped into a sofa in the corner of the room with black hair dripping over his forehead is Jean Moreau, sleeping fitfully, with a black, six digit tattoo stark against his pale wrist.

Kevin is toying with an exy ball, tossing it upwards until it was an inch from the ceiling, before arching back down to his hand again. The rhythmic thud of the ball and Riko’s fluid typing are the only sounds in the room.

Kevin tosses the exy ball just slightly too high and watches as it bounces off the ceiling at an odd angle, ricocheting until Kevin is forced to lean forward in order to catch it. The long sleeved shirt slips down, revealing the stark black tattoo listed along the side of his wrist.

It matches perfectly with Riko’s **000001,** Nathaniel’s **000003** , and Jean’s **000004.** They are the perfect court, the government’s precious and treasured future, the team of five brutal and ruthless assassins that are dedicated to silencing all opponents to the Capital, and to the Moriyamas.

Unfortunately, there are only three of them, when there were meant to be five. Nathaniel left three years ago in the midnight with his mother, sneaking out right under the master’s nose. There’s a fifteen million unit bounty on his head and Riko grows more desperate by the second, to the point where Jean can’t stitch himself together anymore and is forced to run to _Kevin,_ of all people, for help.

“Jean.” Riko’s voice is curt and unforgiving, and violently drags Kevin out of his wandering thoughts. Moreau almost tumbles over his own limbs in his haste to get over to Riko’s side. “Read this and tell me what you think.” And with a touch of impatience: “For god’s sake, Kevin, put that ball down.”

Jean’s brow furrows as he scans the report Riko has been putting together, about the rebellion groups stationed across the country, and the continued resistance from the Trojans. It goes straight to the Capital- to Riko’s estranged father, Kengo Moriyama. “It’s good, Riko.”

He clicks send. The screen closes. The three of them begin to go back to whatever they were doing before, Kevin picking up the exy ball again, and then-

Immediately, a message pops up from Patrick DiMaccio- _found him._

There’s only one “him” that can be referring to.

Instantly, the mood changes. None of them can breathe for a good few seconds, until Kevin breaks the silence.

“Fuck,” breathes Kevin. “They found him. That’s impossible.”

“No one’s seen the slightest hint of him for the past three years.” Jean cuts in. Riko opens the face to face chat and sits up, fingers tapping an uneven beat against his leg. DiMaccio’s weathered, tanned face fills the screen, with a jagged cut slicing through one cheekbone and dripping blood down the right side of his face. Anger and fury flash across his eyes.

 _“Moriyama,”_ he begins respectfully. “ _We crossed highway one today and found Wesninski- going by Alex, apparently, and the Hatford bitch. Somehow they managed to tumble the car we were following them with and got away.”_

Riko’s face shifts from delight, to anger, to downright psychotic. “So he escaped.”

_“And he did it good too. Romero is dead because of one fucking bullet.”_

“Pathetic,” Riko growls.

_“We’re working on it, Moriyama. We at least know where he’s headed-”_

Riko slams shut the computer, cutting off DiMaccio’s words.

Kevin edges away, uncertain. “At least we have the slightest idea of where he is. California coast. There’s only so many places he can go from there.

Riko snarls. “Blame the master for teaching the bastard espionage work, he knows too well how to stay hidden.”

Jean, wisely, keeps silent.

“Let’s just hope that he is found soon.” Kevin murmurs instead. Riko’s glare grows crueler by the second, and Kevin is just hoping to end things soon before they escalate further. “Riko, he knows his place well enough. It’s his mother-”

“The _bitch.”_ Riko mutters. “The fucking-”

Kevin shares the same frustration. He knew Nathaniel well, he knew him since they were both ten and preparing to join the Ravens. He knows Nathaniel’s small, slight figure and the way his eyebrows arched when he was challenged, and the way he was whip fast and deadly with a knife. He also knew how easy it was for Nathaniel to hide, being less than 5’4, and remembers the times that Nathaniel would go missing for days at a time only to turn up in the training room without comment. It always enraged Riko and that was why Kevin suspected that Nathaniel did it on purpose purely to irritate Riko.

He always had an attitude, the idiot. It was his mouth that gave him half the scars on his body.

“If his mother hadn’t taken him, he would still be with us.” Jean helpfully comments, though he shrinks under Riko’s glare. It does divert Riko’s attention, a bit.

“He still left with his mother, though.”

“He had to have been forced.”

“There is no possible way,” Riko grits out, “that he would have been forced.”

It’s true. Nathaniel was too clever to have been forced. No, he went willingly. Which made it ten times worse for Jean for the next two months, and will inevitably make it worse for Neil upon his return.

“We’ll send men out to California.” Kevin says. “San Francisco- he knows it well. San Diego, too.”

Jean opens his mouth like he wants to say something, and then abruptly shuts it. Of course Riko notices his flinch.

“Something to say, Three?”

Jean glances uneasily at Kevin, resign dwelling in his eyes, and then turns to Riko. “Nathaniel won’t be in San Francisco. He knows that _we_ know he’ll go there. Most likely, he’ll head west and north as soon as possible.” His voice wavers on those few words.

Riko considers those words.

“Kevin,” he orders, “Ask the master to send men out to California and Vegas.” When Kevin nods his head obligingly, Riko stands up. “I want to practice. Kevin, Jean,” he beckons, “Come.”

Jean glances at Kevin. When Riko is in a mood like this, it never ends well for Jean.

The target room is space grey and stretches up almost a thousand feet, with sharply sloping floors and different terrains. One wall is lined with plexiglass, and that’s where Kevin heads, to watch Riko through the wall. Jean obediently follows when Riko motions for him.

The room is set up with sixteen targets, spaced from two feet from the standard position to eleven hundred feet away. There are points when the floor slopes downwards and walls to hide behind when the hologram simulation is set in place. All three of them have completed the hardest level of the simulation, without missing a single enemy.

Riko hefts a machine gun for himself. The gun slings over his shoulder and slots perfectly into his arms.

They aren’t working with real bullets today, Kevin knows. It’s rubber, and it’ll leave a nasty bruise, but it won’t kill.

Unless it hits something vital, that is.

“Jean, stand in front of number twelve.” Kevin swallows the tremor that runs through his body and watches as Jean walks five hundred paces to stand, feet together, unflinching in front of the target. Riko stands, shifts his weight off the balls of his feet, and takes aim.

_Bang!_

The first bullet splinters past Jean’s right arm. Two more follow it, hitting the same spot until pieces of shattered wood dust the floor. Kevin watches Riko shift his aim, staring at Jean with cold, clear eyes.

_Bang! Bang!_

Riko takes aim and hits the other side, on either side of his arms. Jean tightens his jaw and clenches down, his heart hammering in his chest.

 _Bang! Bang!_ Two more.

Riko draws a cross around Jean’s body with the next four bullets.

The twelfth bullet lands barely a millimeter away from the top of Jean’s head. It carves a slight groove into his head and it stings, but barely draws blood. The breath is forced out of Jean’s lungs.

Riko has excellent aim.

At Riko’s curt nod, Jean begins replacing the target, studded with metal bullets. Kevin watches a trickle of blood trail down the side of his face, red and deep. His face is gritted and his eyes are cold.

Kevin sits down when Riko enters the room.

“Fake bullets,” Kevin accuses him. “The master said to leave the Ravens unharmed.”

Riko lays the gun down, utterly unconcerned. “A pity scratch, Kevin.”

“Jean knew it wasn’t fake bullets and he still stood out there.”

Riko turns to face him. “Moreau is barely a Raven as it is. He is only part of this Perfect Court because he was sold away like a pet,” snaps Riko in furious Japanese. His face is close to Kevin’s and his eyes are black, and Kevin can see the imprints in his hands from where he was holding the gun so tightly. “And he belongs to _me,_ number two. Or did you forget that?”

The angry retort is on the tip of his tongue, ready to be flung at Riko like a double edged blade. Instead, Kevin swallows it down, tasting blood behind his teeth, and gazes down at Riko’s feet.

“I know my place.”

“That you do.”

Riko Moriyama grips Kevin’s left hand with a vice like grip. He nearly lets out a cry at the way Riko is crushing the bones together, watching as the tips of Kevin’s fingers turn bloodless and pale. “ _Never_ forget your place. Or Moreau’s.” He hisses, cold and snakelike into Kevin’s ear.

“I won’t.” Kevin mutters. Jean enters the room, and Riko lets go of Kevin’s hand and turns to Jean with a cruel smile.

Jean stays silent. Kevin can probably count the number of words Jean has said today on one hand.

Riko is suspiciously absent when Kevin and Jean return to their room, and Jean washes the blood out of his hair before deciding that no, he doesn’t need stitches for a wound this shallow. It’ll sting like a bitch for a few days, but eventually it will scab up and turn into another pink scar. Kevin returns to lying on his back, tossing an exy ball into the air, before Jean snatches it out of his hand and the two end up ricocheting the ball off the wall at angles only they can predict.

“Pathetic,” Jean sneers in French when Kevin fails to catch the ball twice in a row. “A blind man could catch it better than you.”

Kevin laughs, the sound too bright and empty for the Nest. “Watch it, Moreau.” The ball smacks into the ceiling and edges just an inch out of Jean’s reach. “A true Perfect Court member would have caught that one.”

The insult hits Jean square in the chest. The rubber ball bounces once, twice, before rolling to the corner of the room.

“Désolé,” Kevin whispers. “Je n'aurais pas dû dire ça.” _I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that._ Jean knows the words are hollow.

“It’s fine,” Jean responds, in English. “Will you train with me?”

They make their way to the training room for the fourth time that day- two in the morning, one after Riko’s temper tantrum, and then now. Jean alternates between shooting at moving targets and at Kevin, with rubber bullets this time, and Kevin practices his perfect aim from his perch up top, glancing down at the entire training room.

When they’ve exhausted themselves out, both are sporting massive purple and black bruises lining their arms and legs, and Kevin’s eyes are burning from looking through the scope on his gun for so long. Jean disappears to take a shower in the black locker room, and Kevin waits, pacing the floor, and changes out his sweaty clothes into clean ones.

Jean stays in the shower long past when the hot water runs out. Kevin waits, and waits, and Jean only reappears long enough for Kevin to see his blank facade and blank eyes. Together, they head silently back, the only sound their breathing and the quiet words of French exchanged between the two.

 

✦✦✦

 

The guy’s face splits his knuckles, _again._

His knuckles ache from being split the weekend before and from being ripped open just now. Andrew Minyard inspects the new damage done, noting the scabs that have been ripped and are oozing blood, and the new wounds on his other hand.

The guy in front of him hacks up a new blood clot and spits it onto the ground, red dripping from his nose and mouth. He glances around, as if looking for a way to run without running into the two men flanking Andrew on either side. Andrew grins callously, backs up, and then wrenches the man back up against the wall by the collar of his shirt.

“Jesus, Andrew.” Aaron mutters from behind him. Andrew pays him no attention as he smashes the guys head back into the brick wall, once, twice, splattering it with blood. The guy sways on his feet before his knees give out. Andrew lets go of his collar and he slumps to the ground, bloodless. “You didn’t need to do that.”

Andrew checks the corner of his mouth for blood from the one lucky punch the guy scored on him, kicks the corpse again, and grins. “I don’t care.”

“Great, you just fucking smashed his brains out against the wall. Of course you don’t care, you just murdered someone because why, exactly?” Aaron scoffs.

“Check his clothes, Nicky.”

Nicky rolls his eyes, but goes and does as Andrew says. He fumbles through the guys shirt and jacket with slender, gloved hands, and carefully pulls out a black Raven pin and a capsule of cyanide.

“Moriyama,” signs Nicky. The three of them know better than to say that word out loud, especially having just murdered one of their agents. Aaron nods grimly. Out loud, Nicky says, “He has a thousand units on him, and-” Nicky shuffles through a series of zippers, and grins a crooked smile. “A Transit. An actual Transit. Thats a good fifteen, twenty thousand right there.” Nicky extracts the oversized battery and shows it off, before pocketing the transportation device.

Andrew leans against the wall, and crosses his arms, bored. He doesn’t seem to mind the fact that his black shirt is splashed with blood and that his armbands peek out from underneath his sleeves. He yawns, and then says, “Are we done?”

Nicky stands back up, wipes off the blood that got onto his arms, and nods slightly. “Yeah, I don’t think there’s anything more to get from him. It’s weird that he wasn’t carrying a weapon though, right? Like a Moriy- an agent like him usually doesn’t travel alone or without at _least_ a gun, right?”

“It is strange,” comments Aaron. But he doesn’t dwell on that. “Whatever, we should head out. Andrew-”

He’s already fifty feet ahead of them, unlocking the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. Aaron lets out a frustrated groan and sprints after him, with Nicky heaving behind him. It was probably best for them to leave quickly, because none of them wanted to be caught by the pigs after killing a government agent. And if either Aaron or Nicky was arrested, well- no one wanted a repeat of last year.

Andrew pulls viciously out of their parking spot and shifts into the stream of traffic.

“I swear to fucking god, if you crash this car-” Andrew pays no attention to Aaron’s cursing. “I gave you my college funding for this.”

Andrew lets his hand hang on the wheel and turns around to give Aaron an even stare. “Faster, you said?”

He floors the pedal, speeding away at thrice the speed limit. With a gasp, Nicky takes the wheel from him, swerves, and narrowly misses a huge truck in the other lane that could crush the Porsche with one wheel. Andrew gives a shit-eating grin and turns back to keep his eyes on the road.

Nicky leans over and mutters to Aaron, “If he kills us before we can get the cash from Dobson, I’ll kill myself.”

Aaron gives him a skeptical look. “You can’t even kill a fly. What makes you think you’d actually be able to kill yourself?”

Nicky considers this for a moment. “You know, you’re absolutely right for once. We should mark this day down, it’ll never happen again.”

Aaron throws a half hearted punch. “Watch it, Nicky, or you’re actually going to die.”

Nicky pouts, but a smile threatens to drag his lips up. “Everyone would miss me! I’m too beautiful and gay to die this young.”

“Do you two ever shut up,” drawls Andrew from the front seat.

“Nope!” Nicky cheers- and then, as the car vibrates warningly- “Actually slow down ple- You’re going to kill us all. We’re only a block away.”

“And we’re on city streets,” Aaron points out irritably.

“I’m driving at the speed limit.” Andrew informs him cheerfully. “You can get out, if you like.” Nicky turns to look at the asphalt skidding by below them.

“Yeah, the speed limit for a fucking freeway in Italy,” Aaron mutters, earning a harsh turn to the left that slams his shoulder into the door. “Fuck you, Andrew.”

“Yeah, and I’m good on the getting out bit too. I think I’ll agree with Aaron on this one.”

“Interesting. I’ll pass.”

Andrew pulls the wheel at seventy miles per hour and skids across the pavement recklessly, cutting off two other cars, and the Porsche squeals into the parking lot. “Nicky, get the Transit. Aaron, park the damn car. I need to change.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Aaron rolls his eyes, but catches the glimmer of light off the edge of a knife and decides to back off. For once, he decides he might do what Andrew says without sarcasm. He’s sure Andrew appreciates it.

“Didn’t kill us this time,” Nicky cheers. “And only two minor scrapes! I think that’s a record, personally.”

Aaron glances over and sighs heavily. “I regret everything.”

Nicky digs out the Transit from his pocket while Aaron carefully pulls into a parking space, even though the lot is entirely empty. Andrew disappears and reemerges wearing an identical but blood-free shirt.

She’s waiting for them at the door, standing just in front of the two wide glass doors.

With chocolate skin and a head full of tight curls, Betsy Dobson is dressed in a long blue skirt and a polka dotted top, and the most hideous heels Andrew has ever sees. At first glance, she doesn’t look like much, but Andrew, Aaron, and Nicky have the pleasant experience of knowing who she is underneath the kind smile she puts on.

She looks at Andrew, notes the absence of a smile so far, and then looks past him at Nicky and Aaron who are approaching.

“Betsy Dobson,” Andrew grins and holds out his hand, ignoring the way Bee glances down at his exposed armbands. “How _wonderful_ to see you! I’d grown tired of hearing the same old bitching from Nicky and Aaron.” His smile is bright but his tone is murderous.

“Andrew,” she says fondly, taking his hand and shaking it, even though Andrew just insulted her. “Are you here for another trade?”

Something shifts behind Andrew’s eyes, and he smiles. “Let’s get a move on, Bee.”

Betsy takes in his apathetic stare and the unnerving grin plastered on his face and nods silently. She leads the three of them through a pastel hallway, lined with beige and soft blues. They take a right and then another right, into a room that says “Betsy Dobson- In Session,” right above the handle.

“So,” she begins, once the three of them have sat down on the couch directly next to the door. Andrew props his legs up on a different armchair and extracts a cigarette from his pocket. Ignoring the disapproving stare of Bee, he lights it and exhales a plume of smoke in her direction. “What are you three here for today?”

“I thought we had a consensus on no questions.” Aaron starts.

Betsy ignores him. “Are you needing another loan?”

“No need,” replies Andrew curtly. “We have a Transit.”

Betsy gapes quietly, staring at the oversized battery sitting in the palm of Nicky’s gloved hand. Transits are rarely seen anymore because all of them are in the possession of the government (or all seized by the Moriyama Ravens) and even if there was a market open for them, they would be too ridiculously expensive for any citizen to own one.

Betsy takes the battery from Nicky’s hand. “Where did you get it?” She turns it over, noting the small indents in the back. “It’s a bit battered up.”

Aaron opens his mouth, then thinks better of it and closes it.

Andrew drums his fingers on the table. “No questions, Bee. That’s how this works. So now you give us the fifteen thousand units, and we leave, and there’s no trouble for you.”

“Ten thousand,” she says firmly. “I respect you, Andrew, but it’s already had at least three uses.”

“How does she know-” Aaron begins in German, but stops, and signals for Andrew to take over.

“We did _not_ kill another guy just for ten thousand,” mutters Nicky in German. “I’m going to kill myself.”

Andrew glances over at them, sits forward, and edges his left hand towards his right wrist. “That’s interesting.”

“Government agents carry these, Andrew. I’m a good trader, I understand these things.”

“Fifteen thousand.”

“Eleven. Final offer.”

Andrew grins, and holds out his hand. “Deal! It’s settled then.”

Betsy seals the Transit away, tucking it inside a drawer, and leans down. The other two have the grace to look away while Betsy opens her safe, but Andrew stares openly at the password she types in and the codes she uses to unlock it.

They change every day, Andrew knows, so there’s no point in working to memorize it. Besides, he doesn’t need to try that- they earn enough cash on their own, and getting on Betsy Dobson’s bad side would only result in trouble.

She takes out a stack of units, and counts them out, bill by bill. Andrew, Aaron, and Nicky all lean forward as she’s counting, and make sure that she’s not cheating them out of a single bill. When they’re satisfied, Andrew flips through the bills and passes them to Nicky.

He gives Betsy a two fingered salute. “We’ll see you around.”

Back in the parking lot, Nicky tilts his head back and groans, a hand on his forehead. “I can’t believe we gave up an actual Transit for a measly eleven thousand. We’re actually pathetic.”

Aaron scoffs. “You call that ‘measly?’ That’s the biggest load we’ve gotten in months.”

“But a _Transit!”_ Nicky moans. “An actual Transit! We gave up a Transit, there's literally ten of them left in the world, just for eleven thousand! We could go anywhere on the globe with one of those!”

“Get in the car,” Andrew orders.

“A Transit is useless,” mutters Aaron. “Not when we have Andrew’s driving, he doesn’t know what a speed limit is.”

"Andrew won't wait any longer," Andrew reminds them, exhaling a cloud of smoke in Nicky's direction. Nicky coughs, waving it out of his face. 

"Andrew is psychotic," Aaron grunts, and turns his face away when Andrew sends him a callous, blank look. Aaron and Nicky slide into the back, not even bothering with seatbelts, and Andrew shifts the gear into drive and turns out onto the street, leaving Betsy Dobson and her office behind.


	2. Ghost Towns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Danielle Wilds makes an appearance, and Andrew Minyard (almost) dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is unbeta'd!! so sorry for any possible grammar mistakes.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: gratuitous gun violence, some mentions of blood, heterosexual flirting

“So, let me make sure I’ve got this right.” The waitress beams, and reads back: “Two double decker banana sundaes, one extra large order of cheese fries, and two scoops of double fudge rocky road ice cream with extra peanuts and _no sprinkles_ on anything.”

Nicky looks to Andrew, who stares back impassively, and Aaron, who shrugs.

Nicky looks back to the waitress. “And, uh, can you add three cheeseburgers, one with the extra spicy special sauce, and one with both cheddar and mozzarella and the third with no pickles.”

“Alright!” She jots that down quickly. “For here or to go?”

“Ice cream and fries for here, and the burgers to go.”

“Sounds great.” The waitress leaves the three of them tucked in a pink and white booth in the back corner of Sweetie’s, with three glasses of ice water untouched in front of them. Andrew has his legs propped up on the table and is slowly munching his way through five packets of crackers from the dismally small, pathetic salad bar.

It could be worse, he supposes. Life right now isn’t so bad. He’s got a shitload of cash (stored illegally in a hidden box in the Porsche), his brother and his cousin (two idiots who have zero mental capacities), no parents (one dead, one who never existed in the first place), and as of right now, no current death threats against him. It all seems to be going well.

It wasn’t always going well, but Andrew doesn’t believe in regret.

Regret is useless. It’s just another name for hopeless. There’s no point in complaining about “if only, if only.” If only Andrew hadn’t been given up. If only he’d met Aaron three years sooner. If only Nicky hadn’t gone to Germany. If only, if only- but it still happened, and there was no way for him to change it. Life seemed to be going well now, so why would he want to change anything?

Every choice he made in the past was the right choice even if it didn’t lead to a good outcome.

The past is already in the past- there’s no point staying awake at night only to think about what could have been done. No, the only thing to really think about is the future- that’s the only thing that can change. No point in dwelling on what’s already passed.

That’s why, when Nicky kept whining about the damn Transit (not like anyone else cared), moaning about how they gave up a stupid transporter, Andrew had slammed the brake so hard Nicky (the only one not wearing a seatbelt) had snapped forward out of whiplash and hit the headrest of the passenger seat.

“Jesus fuck, Andrew!” Aaron cursed violently. “You fuckhead, you couldn’t have just told him to stop?”

Yeah, no. Andrew doesn’t do “polite.”

Andrew allows himself to tune back into reality, rather than his crystal clear memories. Nicky has his head propped up by his chin and is gazing languidly at the restaurant with half closed eyes, waxing poetic about Erik who’s stuck in Germany, unable to catch a flight to the United States for some reason or another. Aaron is staring dismally at the table and looks about three seconds from killing someone if he has to listen to Nicky any longer.

“Hi, boys,” cheers the waitress, breaking up the conversation. She’s carrying a black tray stacked with ice cream, and she places three large bowls in front of them and Nicky’s disgusting fries. Aaron gathers together the cracker wrappers, and unceremoniously shoves them into her pocket. “If you need anything else, just flag me over! I’m Katelyn, by the way.”

She eyes up Andrew and Aaron. They look identical except for the single scar that cuts across Andrew’s cheek. Andrew meets her eyes, gives her a challenging glare.

“Move along,” says Andrew curtly, and digs into his ice cream.

“She was just trying to be nice,” Aaron grumbles.

“She wants to fuck you,” Andrew says blandly.

“We look identical.”

“Oh my god,” mutters Nicky. “I can’t listen to straight people, it’s bad for my health.”

“Maybe then you’ll finally kick it,” Aaron says.

“Ugh,” complains Nicky, who then promptly swallows the largest scoop of ice cream possible.

Andrew mindlessly works his way through the sundae in front of him. The music in Sweetie’s changes from something neon and poppy to a soft rock and roll. Andrew considers walking out before the cracker dust even arrives if he has to put up with this endless banter.

And then-

A flash of light blue catches his eye.

Sweetie’s is a small diner- it’s fifteen minutes off the freeway, fits forty to fifty people depending on what day of the week it is, and mostly everyone who goes there is a regular.

Nicky used to work at Sweetie’s, back when Andrew had just met Aaron. Both of the twins were fresh out of abusive households and Nicky was doing his best to keep them afloat. It was ironic that in trying to keep the twins from self destructing, Nicky got himself a well paying job in a so-called “drug ring” distributing cracker dust to the regulars at a cheap, greasy diner.

Once Andrew and Aaron turned eighteen on November fourth, they joined Nicky at work- because Nicky was just the sort of mother hen who would force the twins to be legal adults before they entered a drug ring. To both of their disappointments, it wasn’t anything like the gangster drug ring that Nicky made it out to be.

They waited on the guests at Sweeties, counted the number of plastic wrappers someone gives them, and then gave the guests the same amount of cracker dust. Then the guest helpfully leaves a stack of cash on the counter. Most of the guests were regulars. Not many people came to Sweetie’s genuinely looking for food.

This was why the girl wearing a soft blue shirt in combat boots caught his eye, helpfully accompanied by a very tall guy who stood about a head above everyone else, in a brown leather jacket .

“Who is that,” Nicky says, catching Andrew’s gaze and following it to the couple.

Aaron follows their gazes, and swears. “Fucking Christ.”

A bout of anxiety appears in the middle of Nicky’s chest, as the three of them watch the couple take their seats at a booth directly opposite from the Minyards.

“Fuck, fuck, shit shit fuck _shit fuck_ -”

“Creative.” mocks Andrew. “So who is she?”

“Yeah,” adds Nicky. “Messy breakup, Aaron?”

“That’s fucking Danielle Wilds, you idiots.” Aaron gestures to the girl, who had short brown hair that spiked out in various directions, with a port-wine stain covering the lower portion of her left cheek. “I do my research, thank you very much.”

Andrew eyes her up. She didn’t look like much- but then again, Andrew didn’t look like much and he had taken out at least twenty five Moriyama agents, probably more.

“She’s a rebel.” said Nicky quietly. “We shouldn’t make a scene.”

“Why is she here?” hisses Aaron quietly. “This is miles from Palmetto. It’s not their territory.”

“ _Territory?_ ” Nicky stifles a laugh. “What are we, gangs?”

“Yes!” complains Aaron, far too loud.

Andrew’s gaze is flicking between Wilds and the companion. They keep glancing out at Andrew’s table- at _him_ in particular.

“Fuck it,” said Andrew, and rose to get out of his chair.

“Andrew-” Nicky squawks and attempts to pull Andrew back into his seat- “No, you shouldn’t-”

Andrew turns, ready to punch Nicky for touching him, but stops abruptly when he sees their server- Katelyn- head over to Wilds’ table. The smile drops off of her face, and she glances briefly over at the Minyards’ table- once, then twice.

Katelyn then begins discussing with Wilds, and Andrew watches the way Katelyn’s chest rose and fell unevenly, like she was about to vomit or pass out from anxiety but didn’t dare. She sent two more glances towards their table, and reluctantly points in the direction of them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Aaron curses quietly, which was a new low in terms of volume for him. “They’re here for us.”

Without thinking, Andrew slides out of his chair and crosses the room to stop in front of them. For a moment, he sees a flash of surprise flicker across Wilds’ face, before she squares up.

“Aaron or Andrew?” is the first thing she says. Andrew points to the scar on his face and blinks slowly.

The guy takes a step forward, and Andrew’s hand immediately goes to his armbands.

“No need to get violent,” the guy says calmly. “I’m Matthew- Matt Boyd, and we just want to talk. Is it okay if we sit down with you?”

Andrew’s eyes flick up and down over Matt.

It isn’t unusual for members of the rebellion to visit Sweetie’s. It also isn’t unusual for government supporters to visit Sweetie’s. Most people tend to treat it as a neutral spot, just like Eden’s Twilight. The fact that no fights have ever broken out in the entire time Andrew’s known Sweetie’s makes him feel just slightly safer- but the way Matt Boyd and Wilds look like they could both suplex a trailer truck without breaking a sweat neutralizes that feeling.

And then there’s Aaron and Nicky. Andrew can hold his own in a fight easily, but Nicky goes down with one punch because he seriously can’t handle any violence without crying. Aaron might do a little better, but let’s face it, he’s also kind of useless when it comes to a full out brawl.

But the staff at Sweetie’s isn’t dumb. They defend regulars, especially previous workers, over anyone else. If it came down to a brawl, they would intervene.

Andrew calculates the options, calculates his advantages, and glances over Wilds and Boyd, and says, “Five minutes. No violence, no lies, no tricks. Or else I’ll kill the both of you. Understand?”

When he receives a nod of acceptance from the both of them, Andrew steps down.

Nicky and Aaron slide out of the booth and wait for Wilds and Boyd to sit closer to the wall. When all five of them are seated, Andrew starts drumming his fingers on the table in an uneven beat. No one speaks for about a minute.

“Four minutes,” says Andrew.

“I’m Matt- well, Matthew, Boyd, and this is Dan Wilds-”

“We’re part of the Palmetto Foxes. We’ve heard about you from a contact.” Dan speaks up, catching Andrew’s attention. _A contact._ “We’re hoping that-”

“ _Über welchen kontakt sprechen sie?_ ” Nicky cuts off her words and looks between Andrew and Aaron frantically, as if hoping one of them will tell him which contact had sold them out. “ _Welcher kontakt?”_

Aaron grits his teeth. “ _Es muss Dobson sein.”_ It has to be Dobson. The three of them reach that conclusion instantly. No one else they work with would recommend people to each other, and no other contact is neutral enough to trade with both the Foxes and Andrew’s lot.

_“Ich werde sie töten,”_ growls Andrew, and moves to stand up.

“We are _not_ killing anyone right now,” Nicky orders forcefully, in response to Andrew. “Let’s hear them out.”

Dan’s eyeing the three of them with one eyebrow lifted. “We’ve heard that Andrew Minyard is deadly, and has good connections. We could use deadly people with good connections.”

“Fat chance,” Aaron says contemptuously. “We’re unaffiliated, we aren’t getting into your ‘fuck the government’ bullshit.”

“It’s not just ‘fuck the government,’ we’re actually a lot more than that-” Matt Boyd shuts up with one look from Andrew.

“What’s in it for us?” counters Andrew.

Matt frowns. “Uh, a purpose in life?”

Andrew grins. “Don’t need one.”

“A shitload of money?”

Andrew thinks. “A little more convincing, but not enough.”

Dan stares at him evenly. “What’ll it take?”

Andrew jerks his thumb at Aaron and Nicky. “You take these two, plus me, with no complaints. And,” he adds, before they just accept that, “We get to back out at any point.”

“You can’t just back out at any point.” Wilds retorts. “That’s not at all how this works-”

“Do you think we give a shit how it works?” Aaron sneers. “All or nothing.”

Wilds narrows her eyes. “You-”

“You three look like you need some extra napkins!” The waitress bursts into the middle of their conversation, effectively diverting everyone’s attention from the growing fight. “And it’s pretty late, so you boys should probably be getting on your way soon, _right_?”

Andrew’s gaze flickers between Katelyn, Aaron (who’s trying his best to look like he’s not eyeing Katelyn up), Wilds and Boyd, and Nicky.

The waitress speaks up again before any of them have the chance to talk. “Here’s your check! Can I clear anything away for you?”

Wilds smiles wryly. “I think we’re good.”

“Would you look at that!” Andrew says cheerfully, glancing mockingly at the clock mounted on the wall. “Your five minutes are up!”

Aaron grabs at the napkins the waitress just placed down, shaking out the packets of cracker dust that are hidden in the folds. Wilds and Boyd stare at him, as if shocked that he’s showing the evidence of a drug deal in public. He passes the waitress a couple of hundreds. Katelyn accepts it with a nod, and ushers them out of the booth.

“So is it a deal?” Boyd asks helplessly on his way out.

Andrew stops short and turns around.

“We’ll see.”

And then he keeps walking, as does Aaron, neither of them looking back. Nicky gives Boyd a sympathetic smile and opens his mouth to say a half hearted apology, but Andrew’s exiting the door, and Nicky’s expression grows shuttered.

The air outside is chilly and a breeze whips the leaves around them into a frenzy, twirling them higher and higher into the air, floating like wisps of fog in a cloudless sky. The sky is a blue edging on black. The horizon stretches far, far out to the last light left over from the sunset.

Andrew strides towards the car, wrenching the driver’s side door open and sliding in. Aaron and Nicky hurry after him and slip in just before Andrew floors it in reverse, before shifting to drive and speeding out of the Sweetie’s parking lot.

Nicky makes eye contact with Aaron. The two of them have a silent conversation, and it probably goes something like this:

_Aaron: He’s gonna crash this fucking car._

_Nicky: Can you blame him?_

_Aaron: Wilds is psychotic as hell._

_Nicky: Don’t make me think about this whole situation more._

“So,” starts Nicky, uncertainly, “Eden’s?”

The jittery swerve of the car as Andrew jerks the wheel into another lane is a good enough answer.

“No Eden’s tonight.” mutters Aaron. “I sure could use a shit load of vodka right now.”

“Fat chance,” grumbles Nicky.

“We’re going to Dobson’s,” Andrew says sharply. “To either kill her or choke some answers out.”

“Sounds good with me,” mutters Aaron.

“Fuck!”

Both Andrew and Aaron look over at Nicky. “What?”

“We forgot the fucking burgers.”

Aaron gives Nicky a disbelieving look. “ _That’s_ what you’re worried about right now? The cheeseburgers?”

Andrew cranks up the volume before either of them can continue. The sound effectively drowns out any conversation Aaron and Nicky try to hold. With no distractions from the backseat, or on the road (it is rather late, after all), Andrew makes it to Dobson’s in record time.

He parks erratically, and storms out of the car. The building is dark, but spotted with a few yellow lights that glow in the darkness.

Betsy Dobson sold them out- to the Palmetto Foxes, of all people. It suits them right that the person who has never betrayed their trust before would do so now- after twenty years on this earth, Andrew has learned to trust no one. Right when Betsy was about to prove that belief wrong-

“Hello, Andrew.” Betsy smiles kindly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Andrew moves quick as a demon and slams Betsy into the wall, and he presses an arm against her neck and a knife pressed into her stomach. The impact knocks the breath out of her, and Andrew grins wickedly.

“I think you know exactly what this is about, Bee.” .

“Andrew-” Aaron warns- “Andrew, let go of her.”

“This is neutral territory,” Betsy says calmly, her face betraying no fear even if she feels any. “You shouldn’t betray our trust.”

“How ironic!” The smile drops off of Andrew’s face, and he digs the knife in just slightly deeper, enough for Bee to feel the sting in her ribcage. “You sold us out. One wrong move and I’ll kill you.”

No fear flickers across Betsy’s face; her face is even and unafraid and she raises her arms in a placating gesture. “I know you won’t believe me when I tell you this, but I did not sell you out, Andrew. You or Aaron, or Nicky.”

“No,” Andrew grits out, before his smile returns. “I don’t believe you. Stop feeding me lies, Bee! It’s really not very therapeutic of you.”

She blinks slowly. “I never released any information about you.”

“Then explain why Danielle Wilds shows up at our diner and comes looking for us.” Aaron buts in.

Betsy looks down, and slight shame flashes across her features but no regret, no remorse. “They needed recruits for the Foxes. I know you, Aaron, and Nicky are unassociated, and I know the Foxes well. I meant you no harm, and they meant you no harm.”

“You gave them our fucking location,” snarls Andrew.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the definition of ‘releasing information-’” Nicky cuts off when Aaron jabs him in the ribs.

“I did give them your location,” admits Betsy, only slightly mollified. “They are trustworthy people, and they know what it’s like to be genuinely sold out. I will never betray your trust like that again. I’m sorry, Andrew.”

Andrew grits his teeth at the word ‘sorry.’ What a meaningless phrase.

He searches her face for any sign of lying, for any sign of fabrication. When he sees nothing but honesty, then he releases Bee and tucks the knife away inside his armband again.

“Thank god,” mutters Nicky. “Can we go home now?”

 

✦

 

The ticking clock mounted on the wall nears two in the morning, and the air in the house seems to be suspended, still and quiet, with no one disturbing it. Outside, a lone car drives past the house with no headlights on.

Andrew Minyard wakes with a start, a scream about to burst from his mouth. For a moment, it still feels like he’s back in his room with Cass Spear, for a moment he feels like he’s trying to breathe through lungs filled with molasses and then, the feeling passes.

His room is pitch black and silent. For a moment, he considers going back to sleep, but dismisses that thought.

Outside his room, soft steps make the floorboards creak. It’s probably Nicky or Aaron, waking up in the middle of the night, needing to take a piss or craving some midnight snack. But the feet sound too heavy to be Nicky, and too heavy to be Aaron, and suddenly Andrew sits upright.

There are people in their house in Columbia- there are men who have broken in.

He carefully untangles himself from twisted blankets, trying his hardest to make as little sound as possible, and removes a pair of knives from his armbands. Moonlight streaming in through the blinds of his window illuminates the flat edge of the knife and sends a reflection bouncing off the ceiling.

There are _three_ people in their house, at the very least.

Andrew hears muttered whispers in a tonal language, a language he only faintly recognizes from a time before his memories, from a time when everything is blurred- and knows that the men are speaking Japanese- and they are prepared for a fight.

Andrew grips his knives fiercely. Are Aaron and Nicky awake? Nicky is the lightest sleeper Andrew knows besides himself, while Aaron is practically dead weight. The best he can do is catch them by surprise, at this point. Hopefully they’re assuming he’s asleep. If he can catch them- stab one in the jugular, it just has to incapacitate them well enough so that they’re not a bother. If one screams loud enough then Nicky and Aaron will be able to help, and they could take down the other three with just enough luck and violence and pure brute strength.

He has to act now, before they get much farther.

Andrew slides out of bed, and with quick, quiet footsteps, wrenches the door open and throws a knife with all the force he can muster at the shadowy figure at the top of the staircase. He watches with satisfaction as the knife hits his shoulder and buries itself to the hilt in his body, and a black stain spreads on the floor as the guy goes down with a muffled groan. Andrew whips his head around to track the other two assholes, and finds nothing.

A black figure slams a fist into his temple, _hard,_ and stars explode across his sight. Someone else grabs his arms as Andrew stumbles backward, and Andrew yells as his shoulder is wrenched at a painful angle. A Japanese man slams him against the wall- how funny, the roles are usually reversed in this situation- and holds a knife to Andrew’s throat right at his jugular.

“Kon’nichiwa, Andrew Minyard.” The sound of a gun being cocked echoes through the empty hallway- how the _fuck_ are Nicky and Aaron still asleep- and Andrew feels the cold press of the barrel of a gun against his temple. “You understand how this works, yes?”

Andrew grits his teeth and blinks the black spots out of his eyes. “Fuck you, you Moriyama _bastard_.”

He’s graced with another fist that slams into his stomach. Andrew wheezes and coughs, and then gives the man a bloodstained smile and spits into his face.

“Unwise,” the man comments, before choking on the blood that seeps out of his mouth and slumps to the floor at Andrew’s feet. Andrew stares at the knife that just got embedded below his shoulders.

Faster than lightning, Andrew turns and punches the guy holding a gun to his head, grabs the slide of the gun with one hand, and twists his upper arm into the man’s wrist and wrenches the gun out of his hand with the other. He stands up and points it directly at the intruder who just took out- before almost dropping the gun out of shock.

Danielle Wilds stares back at him, breathing heavily, a gun pointed in between his eyes.

Andrew lowers the gun.

“Wilds.”

“Minyard.”

Both of their guns drop to the floor. “Get out of my house.”  

Wilds heaves a short breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “We saw them when we were driving south. Guess it’s lucky that we followed them. It sure looked like you could use some help.”

Andrew schools his face into something that would hopefully pass as indifferent. “I don’t need your pity, Danielle Wilds.”

“I just saved your fucking life, Minyard. A thank you would suffice?”

“Hm, how about one better? Go fuck yourself.”

“I can’t believe I convinced Coach _and_ Renee to come here with me, only for your fucking attitude.”

Andrew doesn’t grace her with a reply and instead kicks the gun off to the side and goes to wake up Nicky and Aaron. Wilds huffs and turns away.

If there’s one thing Andrew hates, it’s being in debt.

Allowing yourself to rely on people is the one weakness Andrew has never had and never will have. Relying on other people only leads to eventual destruction, whether it’s for a good cause or not- relying on other people opens up attack points, lets others know that a person is trustworthy enough for you to rely on them. Reliance lets you be _hurt._ Reliance lets you be _killed._

Debts are a different matter. Debts are reliance but without any choice, without any say in the matter. If you have no honor and no morality, debts don’t hurt you- but Andrew has never broken a promise in his life, and he doesn’t plan on doing it now, even if it would mean betraying someone as irritating and vile as Danielle Wilds.

The fact that Wilds saved his life is worse. He’s in a _life debt._ Of all the horrifying things that could have happened to him, endless hours of torture, or jail time- nothing could be worse that being stuck in a life debt to Danielle Wilds.  

“Wake up,” Andrew orders, before flicking the lights on and tossing a spare book at Aaron’s head. He knows that he’s hit his target when he hears a fumbled curse and a moan from underneath the coverS. “Get up, idiots.”

“What the fuck?” Nicky slurs blearily, blinking rapidly as if to get the sleep out of his eyes. “It can’t be six already, right?”

“We have a visitor,” Andrew informs them cheerily, and picks up another book to throw at Aaron’s shapeless figure under the blankets. “Get outside and then we’ll talk.”

Andrew leaves to go downstairs only to find Wilds, a shorter girl with chin length white hair and pastel tips, and an older man with tribal flame tattoos lining up both arms all lounging on _his_ leather couch. The front door is unlocked and he sees no visible damage, but then again, Andrew can’t really trust anyone these days, can he?

The man stands up when Andrew approaches. He’s tall- much taller than Andrew- and he had deep set eyes which stared at Andrew as if seeing right through him.

“Andrew Minyard,” he says, holding out a hand. Andrew refuses to take it. “I’m David Wymack, I coach and train the Palmetto Foxes. We’re a rebellion group just an hour away from Columbia.”

Andrew raises his eyebrows. “And?”

“Look, drop the tough act, kid. You needed our help tonight, and we’ll need your help in the future.”

“Hm, let me think.” Andrew taps his foot mockingly on the floor. “No.”

Dan looks affronted, as if Andrew just insulted her entire family. “I just _saved your life_ -”

The other girl rises fluidly from her seat, and beckons for Wymack and Wilds (ha, alliteration) to back down. She’s still a couple inches taller than Andrew, and isn’t dressed for a fight- but Andrew can see the darkness lurking behind her pale eyes and demure face, and has no doubt that she would be able to take Andrew down without a second thought, and with no remorse, if it meant that Andrew was a danger.

This, this is someone Andrew can work with.

This girl is someone like him.

“I’m Renee Walker.” She says calmly. “You understand why we’re here, right?”

“Uh, I actually don’t-” interrupts Nicky, followed by a quiet and half asleep Aaron. “Why is Danielle Wilds here? Who are the other two? And why are there three dead bodies upstairs?”

Renee pauses. “Nicholas and Aaron, I take it?”

“Why are three Moriyama men dead upstairs?” Aaron interjects.

Andrew closes his eyes for a moment, counts to three in German, and then opens them again. “It’s ‘story time’ now? You were almost dead if I didn’t get in the way. Figure things out for yourselves once in a while.”

Renee glances at the Minyards and at Nicky, and continues. “Andrew understands why we’re here.”

Andrew grins. “You think I care enough about your pathetic ‘rebellion’ to join the Foxes?”

“You should care about your brother, and about your cousin,” says Renee. “We give you our protection- and in turn, you owe us your skills, and your protection.”

“Hobson’s choice.”

“ Not quite.”

Andrew raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly towards Dan. “It seems like a lose-lose situation for me, doesn’t it?”

“You _owe_ me, Minyard.” snaps Dan. “I saved your damn life.”

“Who says you saved my life?” counters Andrew.

“The guy had a knife to your throat.”

“Not only was there a knife at your throat, but there was a gun at your head and you were outnumbered.” Renee chimes in.

“I was handling the situation.”

“Did you not just hear Renee say that he had a _gun_ to your _head_?”

Nicky looks absolutely delighted. “You had a gun to your head? I have _got_ to hear this story.”

“Do you ever shut up?” says Aaron, annoyed. “I-”

“Enough.” Andrew cuts them off before they can embarrass themselves even more than they already have.

“Look-” Wymack stands, takes a deep breath, and looks at Andrew with no hint of fabrication. “Minyard, you’re strong. You have good morals even if you tend to murder people. You hate the Moriyamas, we hate the Moriyama, that makes us uneasy allies.”

His lips twist into a wry smile. “I hate everybody, Coach.”

Dan growls. “Listen, you short psychopathic bastard- we need you on the Foxes. I hate that I’m saying this but-” She stops short and takes a deep breath, and continues- “We really need you.”

Andrew looks at her, deep and searching, and then looks at Renee, who holds his gaze unflinchingly with just a hint of respect. She nods slightly.

Then Andrew turns, beckons for Nicky and Aaron to follow him. Wilds opens her mouth and stares at them, shocked. Then she finds her voice- “Are you just going to leave like that?”

Andrew allows the faintest hint of a smile to crawl up the edges of his face. “We’re heading to Palmetto, aren’t we?”

Dan draws herself up, smug and satisfied as hell. Andrew sighs. She may be a bitch, but Andrew’s willing to give her some grudging respect.

 

✦✦✦

 

Jean grits his teeth valiantly, but a small sound still slips out when Kevin threads the needle and begins to stitch him up. The cut isn’t deep, just long and bloody, and Kevin knows that it will sting like hell when Jean tries to get dressed the next morning.

Kevin scowls. “What happened this time?”

“I don’t know, Kevin,” snaps Jean in return. “Does it really matter at this point?”  His forehead is wrinkled up and his hands are clenched into tight fists at his side, and his chest rises and falls unevenly.

“Yeah, I’d like to know what pissed Riko off so I don’t accidentally set him off again.”

Jean snarled. “Like Riko would touch a hair on your head. Kevin Day, number two? The media’s playboy?”

“I’m stitching you up right now,” Kevin helpfully points out, which does nothing to decrease Jean’s growing frustration with him and actually ends up increasing it. “Stay still.”

Jean immediately stills; even the shaking in his hands stops.

He knows all too well what he has to do when Riko tells him to be still.

Jean closes his eyes, and for a moment he’s in an entirely different place- the place he goes when reality is too difficult to handle.

In Jean’s “happy place” or bullshit name psychiatrists would call it, he’s at the top of a mountain- and the faint sunlight is warm and bright on his face and the horizon stretches far, far, far beyond his eye can see. The air is crisp and clean and cold and it hurts his lungs to breathe in air this clean.

The sky surrounds him, spreading for years, swallowing Jean whole, endless and limitless, and no one in the world is awake, it’s just Jean, in the middle of a mountain range, alone and unstoppable.

Kevin’s hands work deftly, and when he stands back up, Jean breathes for a moment, and leaves the mountains.

He prods experimentally at the fifteen stitches in his side. That makes one hundred and seventy four stitches since he turned fourteen. Only forty five of them have been from actual combat.

“Thank you,” Jean mumbles in French. He accepts Kevin’s hand and pulls himself to his feet, determined not to wince.

“Riko said to meet him at five.” Kevin’s words are quiet. “We- you shouldn’t be late.”

The words _I can’t take you getting more injured, I need you to be healthy, I wish Riko would leave you alone the way he leaves me alone_ go unsaid.

Instead, they leave in silence- and if Kevin catches the way Jean favors his left leg while walking, and the way he slumps against the locker for only a moment, as if to catch his breath, before gritting his teeth and standing back up again- he says nothing. It sends a pulse of fear flashing through Kevin’s head.

Sooner or later, Riko is going to take it too far- Kevin knows that without a doubt in his mind. Jean is an asset- and yet he is even less than that, Jean is a pet, a toy, Jean is property of the Moriyamas and Jean holds no real significance in anything. Jean is a punching bag for when Riko’s stress levels get too high. The world is cruel at best, and yet the world has been far too cruel already to Jean.

“Kevin!” Riko’s voice is far too bright and cheery for this ungodly hour and instantly Kevin knows either the greatest news in the world has just been heard by Riko, or the worst. From the way Jean immediately stiffens, Kevin hopes to god that it is the former.

“We have a breakthrough.” He grins. “We have _evidence._ He wasn’t too clean this time, now was he?”

“Who?” asks Kevin impatiently.

The edges of Riko’s lips curl up. “Andrew Minyard.”

“Minyard?” The name sounds foreign to Kevin’s ears even though he’s heard it a million times throughout his life at the Nest. “ _Andrew_ Minyard?”

“The one and only.”

“He’s dead.” Kevin assumes automatically. It is what’s coming for the bastard after all. All three of the Perfect Court know about the dangerous Minyard, the one with no father and no mother, the Minyard that systematically murdered several Moriyama men and agents relentlessly and even with a smile on his face. He’s been Kevin’s target for months now, but every sign of him is invisible. Minyard cleans up too well after himself- but he seems to have made a mistake this time.

“He’s not dead, Day.” Riko taps on a computer, draws up a picture, and slides it over for Kevin and Jean to look at. The scar down Andrew’s face is unmistakable, cutting a line down his cheek, and the hazel eyes are piercing even in the twilight. Standing next to him is Danielle Wilds, the her jaw stuck out smugly and stubbornly. “He’s in the spotlight, isn’t he?”

“ _Mon dieu,_ ” breathes Jean. “He joined the Foxes.”

The Foxes have been on the Moriyama’s radar ever since David Wymack formed them six years ago, a ragtag group of pathetic rebels who spread propaganda against the government and promote their own agenda.

They would have been smashed under the Raven’s heel if not for the fact that David Wymack was on their side- David Wymack, who once was Kayleigh Day’s best friend and advisor. After Kayleigh Day’s death, Wymack realized that he suddenly didn’t want to support the government anymore and took the exact opposite path.

Thus began the Palmetto Foxes- a group of rebellious, psychotic children lead by an ex-government agent with a philanthropist agenda and altruistic tendencies.

Kevin stares at the picture, utterly transfixed by the image. “That’s impossible.”

Riko gives him a look. “Really.”

“He wouldn’t put himself into the public like that. If he’s always been reclusive before-” He shakes his head. “He’s psychotic.”

“For god’s sake, Kevin,” snaps Jean, “He murders people for fun.”

“For once I’ll agree with Moreau here,” says Riko. “And Day-” His face twists into a cruel, derisive smile. “You know what your job is now.”

For once in his life, a smile doesn’t spread across Kevin’s face at the thought of finally completing a mission that Riko has tasked him. And yet Kevin knows. He has known that he has to kill Minyard before more damage is done- he has known ever since Andrew popped up on Riko’s radar, and ever since he was first reported as the cause of a Moriyama murder.

Once upon a time, Kevin had known Andrew Minyard- because he saw himself in him, and had wanted him as part of the Ravens, as part of the Perfect Court. He had even gone so far as to plan an intervention for Andrew, and formally draft him as a soldier to be part of the Ravens, until Andrew had left the juvenile detention center he was living in and gone to his real family.

Then, Andrew had left his home, with his cousin and twin brother, and had promptly disappeared off the face of the earth, only popping up once every six months or so for another report of an attack by Andrew Minyard.

The master had been violent, Kevin remembers that much. In the Nest it was Kevin’s biggest failure- his failure to recruit Minyard, and then it was assumed that his failure spawned Minyard’s bloodthirsty nature. The only scars Kevin had from the Nest were from the master, scattered around his shoulders and back, deep grooves that the cane had dug into his skin.

Kevin takes a deep breath and steels himself. “When are we leaving?”

Riko smiles. “Now.”

Riko Moriyama waits in the helicopter for him, the wind ruffling the black hair on his head. His hand fidgets absently with a pen, flipping it around and around, as Kevin gathers his arsenal that he’ll need. Jean murmurs quiet words to Kevin in a language Riko doesn’t understand.

Kevin alternates between a QBU-88 and a SVD-63, hefting both in each hand and checking the barrel on each. Riko privately roots for the latter.

After nearly five minutes of examination, Kevin decides on the SVD and slings it over his back. He makes his way over to Riko after saying goodbye to Jean, who will stay at the Nest until both of them have returned. Jean watches both of them until the helicopter door closes, and then retreats back down the staircase into the Nest.

“Finally,” Riko greets him. “I was beginning to think you’d lost your nerve.”

Kevin has the grace to laugh. “Never, Riko.”

“I would hope not.”

Silence falls over the two of them. The helicopter whirrs for a moment, rises unevenly, before falling like a swan into the air and evening out. Riko glances over at Kevin and sees no hint of fear, no anxiety. Just steely determination and revengeful resolve.

Riko glances over the edge of the window and watches the tiny, endless forest speed by underneath them, a blurred mess of green and brown. He can just track the shadow of the copter by the way it ripples and fades over each ridge in the ground.

The entire ride is silent between the two. Kevin clicks the safety on and off of his sniper rifle, while every other part of his body is stone still. Riko fights back the urge to Riko reflects back on the situation and thinks of all the ways it could go wrong or all the ways it could go right- and glances back at Kevin, his adopted brother, every five minutes to watch him.

It only takes just over an hour until the helicopter whizzes to a stop on top of a sandy flat building, at least four stories up if Riko counted the windows right. Before the rotor even stops moving, Kevin unlocks the door and jumps outside, assessing the view.

“Columbia,” Riko Moriyama says, sitting down on the edge of the building and watches as Kevin unpacks his kit- twelve bullets, and the SVD-63 which is propped up on a tripod and points downwards. “It’s where we saw him last.”

“It’s just a matter of waiting,” Kevin says quietly. The way this game is played is that it can be hours before they see him or minutes- but both Kevin and Riko know that this day is endgame, that there will not be another day after this to kill Andrew Minyard. It happens today, neither of them will wait any longer.

Riko spots Andrew Minyard first. He has his armbands on, stark against his skin, and Riko’s gaze tunnels.

And then Kevin sees him too, and the two of them watch him, Danielle Wilds, and Natalie Walker pass through the crowd like mist.

Riko watches Kevin take aim, watching through the viewfinder with an vigor unmatched by anyone. He tracks the blond head walking intently, before finally clicking the safety off and moving it just a degree to the right.

His left hand curls around the trigger, tightens for a moment, and then Kevin shoots.

The bullet whistles through the air-

It misses Andrew Minyard’s head by an inch.

Andrew Minyard startles at the bullet that slams into the ground behind him, and whips out a handgun to aim back up at the shooter. He cocks it, sends a bullet whistling up, and doesn’t stop to see if it hits his target before he disappears inside a building.

It grazes him, and Kevin grits his teeth to stop any sound from coming out, and Riko is left in shocked silence.

Kevin groans at the red stain slowly spreading across his leg and his breaths come in funny stops and starts. “Fuck-” He grits his teeth, and shudders in a shaky breath, and reaches for the gauze.

“Riko-” Kevin is wrapping gauze around his calf, and snaps at Riko painfully. “Give me tape, Riko, now.”

Riko obliges, but his mind is still frozen in place.

“You missed.”

Kevin Day has never missed before. He has never missed. Riko cannot remember a single time in the entire history he’s formed with Kevin Day in which Kevin had missed a shot- let alone a shot this important.

“I missed.” His voice is small.

Kevin’s voice should have been a balm on the burn that spreads across Riko’s mind, but instead it only fans the flames of the entire situation.

“How is that _possible_?” Riko grits out.

Kevin winces and attempts to calm his raging, beating heart. “I don’t- I don’t know, Riko.”

The blood keeps seeping from Kevin’s leg, and Kevin’s urging him to get back to the Nest so he can get medical attention _immediately._ He doesn’t want to lose the use of his leg, and Riko has to forcibly stop himself from smiling at the comment.

Lose the use of his leg? Kevin would be lucky if that happened to him, when the master and himself were through with him.

Kevin is human. That much is true, but no Perfect Court member is human, and no Perfect Court member misses. Had nerves gotten to him? Had the weight of the mission frayed the last few nerves in Kevin’s head? Had he jerked, just slightly, as it was fired? The only explanation is if-

_Oh._

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Riko fixates on it, examines it from all angles, checks the reality of the situation, examines it again, and finally settles on it as the truth, as the only possible explanation for why Kevin Day missed.

The conclusion is: Kevin Day missed on purpose.

 

✦

 

Jean greets them at the door to the Nest, face drawn and eyes shadowed. He watches Kevin as he limps towards the staircase, notes the gauze wrapped around his calf, and sees the way Riko is barely holding his rage together. His heart stops in place and the room tilts.

_Not again, not again._

But Riko- he doesn’t drag Jean away as soon as they step back into the familiar black corridors. Instead, he takes one look at Kevin, who sheathes the gun and locks it away, and crosses the room towards him.

“You missed on purpose,” Riko snarls. “You fucking bastard.”

He backhands Kevin so hard that his knees give out, and Kevin hits the wall. The heavy ring on Riko’s fingers gleams red and Kevin feels a trickle of blood run down his cheekbone.

“I didn’t miss- I didn’t miss on purpose.” croaks Kevin.

The words come out hollow. Riko grips him by the hair on the back of his head and pulls, sharp and hard, and tilts Kevin’s head back.

“You’ve never missed before,” Riko’s eyes are cold and heavy, but the manic smile that creeps across his face frightens Kevin more. “I know a liar when I see one.”

“I swear- I swear, Riko, I didn’t miss- I _don’t miss, I don’t miss-_ ”

“Jean.” Number three startles when he hears his name. For the entire confrontation, he’s been silent and still in the corner, heart one beat away from giving out. “Hold him down.”

Jean’s face pales.

He doesn’t move, he is frozen in place.

“Did you hear me, number three?” Riko takes a step forward. “I said to _hold him down._ ”

Jean moves to obey. His movements are stiff and slow and empty. He grips Kevin’s wrists and pushes him down onto the floor, making sure that it’s impossible for Kevin to move.

Kevin’s heartbeat echoes in his head, a pounding beat that drowns out everything else. Jean’s grip on his wrists are iron and no matter how much he tries to move, Jean’s weight on his chest is too much for him to do much more than struggle.

Riko pulls out a jagged, serrated knife. He twists it experimentally and it catches the harsh light. When Riko presses it against his thumb, testing how sharp it is, a drop of blood wells up. He steps closer to Kevin and kneels down.

“Remember this, _brother._ ” His breath fans Kevin’s lips and nausea rises in his stomach. “I will always be superior. You will never be able to win against me. And now, you’ll never be able to shoot again.”

“No, no, no-” His fingers shake and he grits his teeth and curls his hands into fists, pulling hard, breathing fast and short, screaming out, and his lungs burn _,_ his eyes burn, everything burns-

There is a flash of heat. Kevin’s vision goes black.

Then a stinging pain, and then-

And then Jean is carefully wrapping a black shirt around Kevin’s hand, before taping it down and turning it over to examine his handiwork. Riko is nowhere in sight. Kevin barely recognizes anything anymore. His vision is blurred.

“Day.” His voice is curt, and the sound of it helps to draw Kevin out of the fuddled mess of pain in his head. “We’re leaving. Come on.”

Kevin allows Jean to drag him, both of them stumbling more than walking, towards the exit of the Nest. The air outside is cold and the first snow has just begun to fall. The darkness in the air is a death sentence.

“Jean- _frère-_ ” Kevin mumbles frantically, grasping at his shirt, “Jean-”

“ _If you’re here in the morning, Riko will kill you_.” Jean speaks in rapid French. “Kevin, listen to me. You have to leave- go to your father. Palmetto, South Carolina.”

David Wymack.

_Father._

Jean knows that this action can cost him his life- and as much as he hates himself for it, Jean would rather save Kevin’s life and future than his own. Kevin hates himself for it, he hates that when he leaves, it will only make everything worse for Jean, and that he can’t do more to stop Riko from destroying his life.

“Kevin, you need to go.” Jean’s voice breaks. He pulls himself back together and covers the pain with steely eyes and jagged edges, and says, “ _Bonne chance, Kevin Day. Je t'attendrai._ ”

Jean slams the door to the Nest shut. Kevin stands bone still while snow whirls around him, sprinkling down lightly from a sky without light. He stands still, while blood seeps through the black shirt from his severed hand, and drips in red onto the frozen ground. He stands still and watches the home of his childhood close forever behind him.

Steeling himself for the journey and his life, he forces himself onwards.

Stumbling through the darkness, Kevin Day boards a Greyhound heading to South Carolina, and pulls the hood of his jacket over his face. The damn shirt wrapped around his hand- fucking wrist- doesn’t stop falling off, and despite Jean’s best attempts to stitch him up and prevent as much blood loss as usual, the rush of blood never stops. Kevin finds himself slumping against the window, dizzy and trembling, with the chilly glass cool against his sweat-slicked skin. He alternates between panic and terror and panic and terror and panic and terror until he falls asleep, shifting restlessly between nightmares and dreams until he doesn’t know what reality he is in.

The bus stops. Kevin jerks awake suddenly, and the world goes white before his eyes. Dizziness threatens to take over his mind before Kevin grits his teeth and forces it away. The driver slouches in his chair, turns around to look at the teenager crouched in the third row, and says, “Kid, last stop. Palmetto, South Carolina.”

The words somehow manage to get through the haze fogging up his mind, and Kevin stands up, swaying. The driver furrows his brow, but thankfully knows not to say anything that might make Kevin even worse.

He keeps his hands tucked in his pockets and slides out of the bus, doing his best to avoid the driver’s searching black eyes. When the doors creak shut behind him, Kevin finds himself on an unfamiliar street, in an unfamiliar town, in an unfamiliar state, with snow falling like petals during spring.

The cold becomes overwhelming and his fingers are freezing, to the point where he can no longer feel the tips of his fingers; the stinging numbness spreads up his fingers more and more. His feet can barely take him to the next step and yet he forces himself to keep walking.

The logical part of his mind tells him that he probably has hypothermia at this point, and probably frostbite with his luck. He doesn’t have a coat- he probably barely has any blood left inside his veins at this point. His heart is beating a frantic, pulsing beat that echoes inside his mind. He takes a step to the sound of his heart and he knows that if he stops walking he will never get up again. His life will end here, in Palmetto, South Carolina, and they’ll find his frozen body once winter is over.

Before he knows it, Kevin finds himself walking into an ambush.

He sees light bloom up out of the darkness, and recognizes the embers and the red-orange flow of a fire. The part of his brain that isn’t already dislodged from blood loss, the cold and panic knows that a fire means warmth, humans, and medical care. He takes another step forward and clutches at his jacket.

Whispery shapes slide out of the trees, and Kevin feels the crunch of snow all around him and the click of at least five guns, probably all aimed right at him. It’s ironic in some sense, that his death should be at gunpoint. At least Riko would get a good kick out of the news, wouldn’t he?

A pair of footsteps crunch right behind him, and he feels the edge of a knife pressed into the small of his back.

“Please,” he whispers, holding up his hands- hand- “Please, I-”

“Oh, I don’t like that word.”

Kevin turns around slowly.

For the first time, he comes face to face with Andrew Minyard.

Andrew Minyard is surprisingly short for someone with such a big reputation. He comes up to Kevin’s shoulder, so Kevin is a full head taller than him, and the most noticeable thing about his face is the smile that transforms it. Andrew has a twisted smile that threatens to burst and seems perfectly unconcerned about the fact that he has a knife pressed into Kevin’s stomach, and is about to gut him like a pig.

The second thing Kevin notices about him is the long scar that curves down his right cheek, the only thing that immediately separates him and his twin brother apart. The scar is raised and light pink, and does nothing to transfigure his facial features, but is stark against the rest of his skin.

Andrew twists the knife in and presses it deeper, even though it hasn’t drawn blood yet. He tilts his head mockingly and looks Kevin up and down.

“A Raven out of the Nest? With hm, only one wing?” Kevin is again reminded of Riko and what he did and he shivers.

“I-” The words fail to come out of his mouth, and Kevin finds himself gaping uselessly. “I- _plea-_ ”

The smile vanishes. “I don’t like that word. Say it again and you won’t be able to speak again.”

Danielle Wilds emerges from the shadows and makes her way to Minyard’s side, her hands gripping a handgun fiercely. Her eyes are dark and bright and hold no remorse for Kevin. He wouldn’t expect her to.

She gestures at his wrist, which he has tucked inside his pocket and is scared to move for fear of fainting. “Hands out of your pockets.”

The words thrum throughout his body and rest inside his head, tumbling around until they finally make sense in his jumbled mind and he raises his arms slowly.

“Jesus.” Wilds looks almost impressed and horrified at the same time, which is an odd juxtaposition for her to be stuck in. “What happened with that?”

He numbly shakes his head. If he tells people, then Riko will know. If he tells people, then Riko will know. He can’t say anything. He just can’t tell them.

Unimpressed by his silence, Wilds raises her eyebrows and beckons another person out of the shadows. “Nicky, search him.”

“If you say so!” Nicholas Hemmick slides out of the shadows and grins, and slowly Kevin’s eyes adjust to the darkness and he sees more and more people amongst the trees. “Not the nicest way to be feeling Kevin Day up, but I guess I’ll take what I can get.”

Wilds isn’t impressed. “Just do it, Nicky.”

_“_ _Halt deine fresse, Nicky.”_ Andrew growls. “ _Bevor ich dich mache.”_

From the way Nicky takes a step back and widens his eyes, Kevin guesses it probably wasn’t a very polite thing to say and probably was a threat towards Nicky.

“Jeez, got it, Andrew.” Nicky pats Kevin down with gloved hands, his movements calm and swift, and removes a pocketknife in Kevin’s back pocket before declaring him clean and safe.

Wilds eyes him up and down suspiciously, before glancing over at Andrew, who stares back impassively.

“Hands up over your head, Day. Follow me back to camp- and if I hear any words from you, this bullet will find a new home in the back of your head, understood?”

He nods mutely. Kevin would almost prefer a death sentence over having to be at the mercy of the Palmetto Foxes, and for a split second he wishes he would have refused to leave the Nest and stayed at Jean’s side.

_I will wait for you,_ Jean had said, low and somber in French, in the one language they had shared between them that Riko couldn’t touch. Kevin knew without a doubt that Jean would wait for him until the day he died, the same way that Kevin would wait for Jean.

Kevin is terrified of the way Riko will react. He had never, never seen Riko in the rage he had been when he destroyed Kevin’s hand, and he knows that the morning will be worse. Nausea builds in his throat and travels down to his gut.

_I will wait for you,_ Jean had said, and he would wait until the end of his life. The fear boils in Kevin’s stomach, hot and angry and turbulent, that Jean would only wait until the next morning.

But if he keeps focusing on that he knows that he will never survive, and if he wants to save Jean he needs to save himself first. The humiliation at being at the Foxes’ mercy trickles down his back, cold and icy. Wilds prods him forward, and Kevin’s world narrows to one foot after the other, until he makes it somewhere safe. Snow squeaks under his feet with every step he takes.

Eventually the party reaches the collection of tents, with a bonfire burning in the center. Allison Reynolds is lounging on a chair, hair pristine and perfect, and she’s sharpening a knife with clicking sounds. When Danielle comes into view, she stands and runs her eyes over Kevin, before resting her gaze on Kevin’s left hand.

“Someone fucked him up good, didn’t they?”

“Enough,” Wilds says, annoyed. “I’m taking him to Wymack. He’ll decide what to do.”

Andrew comes into view from around Kevin and slips the knife away in a flash so quick Kevin’s eyes don’t comprehend it. “Might as well just leave him out for the vultures, Wilds! He’s dead weight, isn’t he?”

“Shut up, you short psychopath.”

Andrew doesn’t bother replying to that derisive comment and instead enters the largest tent, a canvas tent with light flowing from underneath the flap. Kevin follows him and when he ducks under the flap, he sees David Wymack- his _father_ \- approach him and cross his arms with an unreadable emotion.

Kevin lowers his arms hesitantly and tucks his hand(s) into his pocket, and feels his heart beat faster as Wymack looms over him.

“Kevin Day.” says Wymack. “The military’s child. Why are you here?”

“I-” Kevin swallows hard, and then says, “I have nowhere else to go.”

It’s the truth, and he hates himself for it.

Wymack scoffs. “How am I supposed to know that no one is going to come after you How do I know I’m not just walking into a trap?”

“Oh, he’s safe, Coach.” Andrew smiles derisively. “I wouldn’t worry about a Raven like him.” He wrenches Kevin’s left wrist into the air, which consequently sends a white hot pang throughout Kevin’s body and makes him sway on his feet. “No one wants a cripple in the military, do they?”

The word sends a chill throughout Kevin and his already unstable legs threaten to give out from underneath him. He’s crippled. A cripple, a cripple- that’s all he is now, isn’t he? Everything he built his life around is destroyed- everything is gone, Riko has taken everything away from him.

“Jesus, fuck!” Wymack drops the tough act (thankfully for Kevin) and glares at Andrew, who only smiles back a shit eating grin. “Get him to Abby, you fuckhead, how is he still alive? Who _did that_ to him?”

His eyes are fixed on the stump of Kevin’s left arm, the way his wrist ends just before his hand should begin, and at the jagged white bone that is just barely noticeable under Jean’s many, many stitches. Kevin’s left hand is amputated- Kevin Day no longer has a left hand.

“Riko,” Kevin gasps out, the last bit of his energy petering out. His legs give out under him and everything fuzzes out into black. “Riko Moriyama.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... that happened.
> 
> I was going to end it with the deal between Andrew and Kevin, but it was already 11k words and I just wanted to post it already, but chapter three! Neil makes a reappearance! and things get a lot more interesting
> 
> the next chapter might take a very long time, because I'm going to a residential treatment program over the summer (involuntarily lmao) so I'll try my best to get the next chapter out as soon as possible. thank you for reading!! I appreciate it so much.
> 
> also.. how would.. y'all feel about.. a dear evan hansen au.. just a thought.


	3. The Raven's Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Neil looks back, slows down, and trusts people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two and a half months later and i'm back!! enjoy some neil action.
> 
> warnings for this chapter: gun violence and some physical violence! that's it.

Neil winces at catching sight of a bright red poster taped to the school office. It’s been up for months, but every time Neil sees it he flinches.

It catches everyone’s eye when they pass it and it reads: 

_ Nathaniel Wesninski. Age 18.  _

Underneath the bold words is a plastered picture of Nathaniel. He has his natural auburn hair, pale freckles splattered across his nose, and piercing, icy blue eyes. Below that is a picture of his forearm with his tattoo on display, sharp black lines popping out of his skin. Neil can almost see the faint edge of a scar at his elbow. The tattoo is the six digits every military member gets tattooed onto their right forearm, to mark which person they are and the number of men in the military- and as time went on, the digits became seven, and then eight. Riko, Kevin, Nathaniel, Jean are numbers one, two, three, and four. Neil pushes up his sleeve and stares at the numbers. They seem awfully stark black against his skin. Riko’s kanji is just below it- the kanji Riko carved into his skin. 

“ _ Just to remind you who your king really is,”  _ Riko had said, while he dug the knife in deeper as blood seeped down Nathaniel’s arm- 

“ _ So you never forget who you belong to.”  _

Right below the picture reads:

_ Anyone with knowledge or information of his whereabouts is under federal law to immediately report it. There is a fifteen million units reward for information leading to his recovery. _

Recovery, Neil scoffs. As if his father isn’t going to slowly take him apart, inch by inch, if he ever returns to Evermore, as if Riko won’t smile cruelly over him while Jean is forced to hold him down- no, no, no, he can’t do that. Neil absentmindedly tugs on a lock of dyed brown hair and passes the poster. 

He can handle seeing the poster. He’s seen thousands of them in every city he’s in.

But he still can’t believe that Kevin left. 

Four months ago, he used the library computers to search up results on Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day, and saw murmurs about one Kevin Day, and how Day had apparently shattered his wrist in combat and was too damaged to continue in the military. Kevin Day was deadweight- and he had been released back into civilian life.   
Two weeks later, an official notice from the Moriyama government had been released saying that Day was granted a medal of honor for his work, and had been released from military service. 

Neil’s been sitting in Millport for weeks turning over everything that he knows about Kevin Day over in his head. He still hasn’t reached any conclusions. But the facts he knows for certain are:

One: Kevin Day never goes anywhere without Riko Moriyama  _ (king,  _ his voice whispers to him, which Neil shakes off). He’s one half of a whole- and he would never be complete without Riko. Neil has never doubted that.

Two: Kevin Day is loyal to supporting the Ravens and the Moriyamas. In all of his time at the Nest, while Neil was busy planning his eventual escape with his mother, Kevin was at Riko’s side through all of his missions and never questioned any of the orders he was told.

Fact three: Kevin Day’s mother is Kayleigh Day, the founder of the Ravens and the main influence in promoting the Moriyamas. Neil doesn’t know her true morals, whether she truly believed in the government the way the Moriyamas ran it- the fact remains that Kevin’s sworn to uphold her legacy. The Moriyamas will hold him true to that.

And then there’s four: Riko Moriyama is a devil in human form who does not tolerate injuries. Kevin Day may be an actual part of the side branch who holds actual value, but Riko- or the master- is not above hurting him to teach him his place as number two. That being said- he doesn’t think that Riko is allowed to ruin assets like he apparently has done with Day. 

So it means that Kevin Day’s shattered wrist has to be more than urban legend- it’s a genuine injury.

Both Jean and Nathaniel know what Riko is capable of. Both of them have suffered at his hands for mistakes they never made, yet neither of them had been broken from it.

He shakes himself violently to rid himself of those thoughts and drags himself back into the present. 

The poster only reminds him of the desperation Riko must be going to in order to find him. The bastard has little pull but still pretends like he’s the puppet master. His thoughts go back to highway one- to his mother, swerving to try and flip someone else’s car, making it pitifully far before his mother bled out into herself. The air seems to smell like smoke and Neil’s breathes start to come faster, before-

“Hey, Neil, you good?”

Neil startles up, and it’s just Louis. Louis from the Exy team. He’s smoking a cigarette. 

Neil shakes himself wildly out of those thoughts and offers a half smile up towards Louis. 

“I’m good. Just thinking about that English essay.”

Louis grins, taps some ash off, and takes another drag. “Johnson’s a bitch, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” says Neil. “Really is.”

He’s been in Millport, Arizona for seven months and so far, it seems cruelly uneventful. He enrolled himself in the local high school and started classes. They have a propaganda class that’s mandatory- just like every other country in the nation. Neil spends the entire period debating on ways to murder the teacher and how to pass without making it obvious that he’s spent his entire life in the media and the military. 

He joins the Exy team. He remembers Kevin’s obsessive fanaticism with the sport and decides to find out why he loves it so much. Neil finds that he really loves it too. It combines physical strength with little restraints on how violent you can be, and tactical strength. From his first game Neil could understand why Kevin adored it. It was like someone had reached into his mind and pulled out the few strings that weren’t covered in military blood and twisted them into a racquet. 

The bell rings. Neil stares at the clock in disbelief that thirty minutes have passed. He ducks his head, pulls his hood up, and goes on to English. 

The afternoon is filled with Exy. Neil speeds down the court, confronting Derrek whenever he can. Neil is the fastest player on the court. He loves being a backliner, loves appearing out of nowhere to stop people at the last moment, loves the thrill of the chase, loves frustrating people and mouthing off. 

The strikers he blocks do not like him that much. But Louis tolerates him, and Derrek laughs at pizza nights when he regales the team with moments of him toppling over because of Neil. 

So Neil is… comfortable. He’s by no means safe, but at least for now he can be comfortable. 

“Alright, that’s all for today.” Coach Hernandez calls down the court, and watches as his players stumble to a halt. Derrek lets the ball fall out of his net. “We have our last game in a week- we know we’re not making it to nationals, but let’s make this last one count.” He surveys everyone’s faces through their faceguards. Neil is careful to make his expressionless. “Alright, go get changed.”

As always, Neil is the last to make it off the court. In a week, it’s going to be changed back to its original use- a soccer stadium. Neil doesn’t like the idea of dismantling the Exy court, tearing down the plexiglass walls just to change it back to the most boring sport in the world. 

Hernandez catches his eye as Neil pulls off his helmet. “Neil, wait one moment, please.”

Louis gives Neil a look, silently asking what’s going on. Neil shrugs and hoists his racquet over his shoulders. “Yeah, Coach?”

“Listen, Neil…” He sways on his feet, shifts his balance from one foot to the next. Discreetly, Neil takes a step backwards. “Is everything, well, is everything all right at home?”

Neil’s heart skips a beat. “Everything is fine,” he says, the lie sliding off his tongue. It feels almost too natural. Hernandez seems to think the same. 

“I really don’t think so, Neil.” He twists his lanyard around. “I’ve noticed you’ve been sleeping in the locker room, and almost every night at that. Why are you not going home?”

“My mom has a conference out of state,” replies Neil automatically. “I really don’t mean anything of it. She’s just not home at the moment.”

“And your dad?”

“He works late nights,” the lie twists around and it tastes revolting inside Neil’s mouth, “He’s rarely home as is, and he tends to spend the nights at work.”

Hernandez takes a small step forward and Neil recoils. It causes both of them to stop short in their tracks. Hernandez takes in the way Neil is clutching his racquet like a lifeline, feet apart and standing in a stance that almost appears threatening. 

“Alright,” sighs Hernandez. “I’m not happy with it, but I really hope you know that I’m here for you if you need it. I know you’ve already met with Mrs. Anderson, but I’d like you to set up a meeting-”

“No thank you.” Neil cuts him off abruptly. He has no interest in meeting with a school psychiatrist to check in about his daddy issues. “I’m going to shower now.”

Hernandez watches him go silently. When Neil gets into the locker room, he’s angry enough to wrench his locker open and toss his racquet on the floor. It’s the last time he’ll play Exy again, anyway. He’s not going to the game next week and he won’t show up for practice again. It’s one last night here in the locker room, and then Neil is going to erase his identity and move on to the next cache, the next name, and the next backstory. He doesn’t have to take care of his racquet anymore. 

Derrek picks up his racquet and leans it against the wall. “What did he want this time?”

Neil almost growls with frustration. “He wants me to talk to Anderson.”

“That fucker.” Morgan calls out. She’s tall, the only girl on the team, and is sculpted out of marble with the way she holds the goal out on court. She’s tried to tell Hernandez repeatedly that she doesn’t care about changing in the boys locker room, and at some point he gave up. She unabashedly pulls off her sports bra as she’s talking. “He’s tried to do that to me, too.” 

“It’s frustrating,” Derrek offers sympathetically. “Anything we can do?”

“Yeah, tell Hernandez to mind his own damn business.”

“Good luck with that,” Louis says. “He may be a shitty coach but he’s also a shitty person. I have this theory about him that he secretly works for the German government and he’s like some hidden underground cop. Maybe that would explain why he tries to get everyone to open up to him. He collects backstories like they’re money.”

“All those propaganda classes just to find out that the real enemy is our own coach,” Morgan mocks. “I’m gonna agree with Louis here.”

“You guys think the cop is Hernandez? No, it has to be Anderson. She knows everything and she’s a devil in disguise.” responds Neil uncharitably. He continues putting his equipment away while the conversation flows around him. Louis, Derrek, and Morgan are the last people left in the locker room once Neil finishes with his shower.

“You going to join us at Dennys?” Morgan tilts her head at him. “Finals are right after the next game so this is it for us.”

Derrek gives a wry smile. “One last celebration with the team.”

“I’ll see you guys there.” Neil lies. They leave giddily. Neil sighs, locks his stuff in his locker, slides down onto the ground and stares up at the ceiling.

Twelve hours. He’ll leave at six.

Just twelve hours.

But as much as he refuses to admit it, Neil likes Millport- he has friends, he has an essay to write and he has a coach who tries to help him as best he can. He has a place to fit into, and he’s a backliner. He holds the team and defends the goal- he’s part of a team. It almost hurts him to admit that he doesn't want to leave. If the Moriyamas weren’t after him- if his father wasn’t after him, if Riko didn’t exist- Neil wouldn’t mind living in Millport. Finishing high school. Maybe even living a normal life.

_ (Out in the court, Hernandez pulls out his phone and sends a video to a blocked number. _

_ Across the country, two people receive a video and press play. A growing smile spreads across one of their faces- a smile that doesn’t reach their eyes. They lean back, and their eyes glow with triumph.  _

_ “Millport, Arizona it is.”) _

Neil stores those thoughts away in a place he can’t reach them. _Don’t look back,_ his mother whispers. _Don’t slow down, don’t trust anyone._ He curls around his duffel bag and counts as high as he can in every language he knows. He gets up to four hundred in Japanese before he finally falls away to sleep.   
His dreams are clouded with Riko’s cheshire cat grin and a bloody knife in his hand; it transforms into Neil holding the knife, standing over a writhing body; then Neil is hiding in a closet, a gun in his right hand and a set of knives in his sleeves; then it snaps to Neil again, fifteen years old when his mother steals him out of the Nest at night, killing every guard they see as they go-,

He jerks awake. His heartbeat echoes in his ears like a drum. Pale light streams into the locker room from misted-over windows, and Neil slowly eases himself up off the linoleum. He takes a seat on one of the long benches, and stretches slowly, relishing the burn that remains in his hamstrings and calves. Today will be a long day. Hernandez had apparently already locked up while Neil was asleep, which Neil isn’t proud of. He flips through his duffel and his binder- everything is normal. No one has gone through his things. 

It’s barely morning in Millport, Arizona. Neil has about two hours to figure out what his best direction should be. When Neil glances at the clock, it’s almost six AM- time for Hernandez to come back. Neil isn’t ashamed that he slept in the locker room, but he isn’t proud of the fact that he’ll have to explain to Hernandez one more time about his parents and why he isn’t home.

The sound of the lock clicks, and then the door creaks open. Light floods the locker room and Neil squints at the light gleaming off of buffed linoleum floors,

“Neil,” Hernandez says, sounding surprised. “What are you doing here?” He’s wearing a ratty navy shirt that says _Millport Tomahawks_ in large white font, and a black baseball cap that does nothing to cover wiry hair that sticks out at all angles. A pair of wiry glasses sit crooked and unevenly on the bridge of his nose. A silver whistle and a load of keys hang on a lanyard around his neck. “Have you been in here all night again?”

He swings his legs off the bench and sits up fluidly. “I thought I would come here early to practice. My mother had to leave early anyways for another conference in Omaha,” lies Neil. The words come out as smooth as water off a duck’s feathers, just like they had the night before. “I promise I didn’t spend the night in here.”

Hernandez doesn’t believe the lie, just like he didn’t to all the ones before then, but he doesn’t fight Neil on it. He could charge Neil with breaking and entering if he felt like stopping him- but he isn’t that particular type of cruel.  

“I guess it’s rather fitting that you came here early, Neil,” says Hernandez. He takes off his pair of wire spectacles and begins to clean them rather nervously with the hem of his shirt. It’s a tic that Neil seizes upon. “You see, I wanted to speak with you about something.”

Neil shakes the last remains of the fuzziness out of his head. He zips up his duffel. He’s alert and ready to run as soon as Hernandez begins talking. The words “I want to speak with you” have never rung well in Neil’s mind. “About what?”

“It’s not about what we talked about yesterday, Neil. I understand that your family is a tricky topic for you. I’ve been in contact with a few individuals about you and Exy scholarships, and they asked to speak with you. I think they flew in last night and they’re excited to talk with you now about that-”

The words echo through Neil’s mind.  _ Exy. Individuals. Last night.  _ Neil needs to leave now- what if it’s his father’s people- DiMaccio is out there, Lola would be ready to gut him with a switchblade right outside the locker door; what if they’re Moriyama people, Riko could be waiting right outside-

“Listen, Neil-“ Hernandez must be able to sense the growing urge to run and the panic building inside of him, and tries to calm him down. “They’re good people, but they asked me to not say anything until now-”

Neil grabs his duffel and sprints toward the exit at full speed, pulling the fire alarm as he goes. The piercing ring echoes loudly through the empty locker room and Hernandez instinctively covers his ears. Neil’s fingers fumble for his mother’s battered, ancient Transit that’s buried at the bottom of his duffel. He clicks forward to the location- Berlin, Germany- and clicks the transport button.

Nothing happens. 

Instead, the electricity sparks out, the Transit overhearts to the point where it feels as if it’s scalding and bubbling Neil’s palm off, and Neil gets tasered in the back. His muscles clench at once and his nerves feel as if they’re frying and sparking out, and then-

Neil rolls over, gasping for air, and scrambles up and forwards blindly even though every muscle in his body protests against it. Before he can catch his breath and hit his stride, someone smashes the barrel of a rifle into his stomach, with all the force they can muster. He hunches over, wheezing, hearing the crack of a broken rib, maybe two- Neil’s clock is ticking. Suddenly, his head is slammed back against the wall by his hair, and the cold barrel of a gun is pressed to his forehead. The chilling click registers faintly in his mind. Whoever this is, they’re aiming to incapacitate him to the point where he’s unable to fight back. 

_ Fuck,  _ Neil thinks. He’s getting rusty.

“Fuck you,” wheezes Neil. 

“Hm, I’ll pass.” Neil’s vision finally clears up even though his head rages. He comes face to face with the one and only Andrew Minyard, who’s kneeling next to him with a derisive grin on his face, and Neil’s Transit held loosely in his hand. “You really are a rabbit, aren’t you? That’s a hundred units in my favor, Day. Seems as if Nathaniel Wesninski isn’t all he’s cracked up to be.”

Oh no, oh god, no. No, no, no no no. 

Neil sits up, gasping for breath, and comes face to face with Kevin Day. He has the barrel of a gun pressed against his forehead with his right hand. 

_ Kevin Day. _

_ His hand- his left hand- _

Neil scrambles backwards until his back hits the lockers and he’s forced to stare up and meet Kevin’s eyes. He recognizes Kevin, and the same recognition flashes across Kevin’s face.

Kevin’s face pales. The gun falters, and then drops. “Nathaniel,” he breathes. “It really is you.”

It takes Neil a moment to realize-

“ _ Fuck you.”  _ Neil spits out in French.  _ “My name is Neil now.” _

_ “Fifteen million units on your fucking head.”  _ Kevin says. And in English- “Do you really want to be running right now?” 

“Fifteen million units doesn’t mean  _ shit  _ to me,” growls Neil. “Take your bastard mutt and let me leave.” 

The blond interrupts. “Let’s speak in a language we all know, Kevin! Wouldn’t want to miss out on the little rabbit here.” In the background, Neil dimly notes that the fire alarm has stopped, and the silence now feels deafening.

Neil manages to stumble to his feet, braces a hand against the wall, and presses the other hand to his side. There’s the feel of at least one bruised rib, even though he doesn’t think they’re broken. 

Neil grins, and snarls in raspy German, “I said _fuck._ _you_.”

Minyard laughs. Kevin recoils. “Since when do you speak German?”

“Since I realized you weren’t going to help save me or Jean.”

The words are cold. Neil meets Kevin’s eyes and doesn’t break eye contact until Kevin looks away. Out of recognition- maybe out of pity, or out of fear-

Minyard tilts his head mockingly and steps in. “I’m not stupid.” Even as Kevin lowers the gun, he moves in, scoops it up, and presses the cold barrel straight at Neil’s forehead. His finger curls around the trigger, safety off. “Nathaniel Wesninski, huh?”

“Neil Josten.”

“Interesting. It didn’t seem that way from the video your coach sent us.”

Neil shoots a glance toward Hernandez, who has a look set on his face that reminds Neil of his father when he was in a rare temper. He has a gun holstered to his side. Seems the casual locker room conversation with Derrek and Louis about their coach being an undercover cop was more than casual. 

“He’s been watching me, hasn’t he?”

“The Moriyamas were tracking you,” says Kevin quietly. “Before I left, we knew you were heading south. I knew you would head here.” 

For a moment, Nathaniel’s curiosity is piqued. “To Millport.”

“No, to Phoenix.” 

It takes a second for the words to connect in Neil’s head, before his face drains of blood. “You have five seconds to get out of my way before I kill all three of you.”

Minyard yawns mockingly. “Pity. I’m looking forward to a fight.”

“Four,” warns Neil. “Step aside, mutt.”

“Nathaniel-”

“ _ Neil.” _

“Fine, Neil- don’t be this way. Riko isn’t here for you to impress. Drop the tough act.”

The fucking thought- even the mere idea that Neil was trying to  _ impress Riko-  _

“Three seconds, Day.” Minyard’s and Neil’s faces are close together, separated only by the barrel of a gun, and Minyard’s gaze is empty and cold and mocking. “You want me to drop the act? Get out of my way. And never mention that psychopath’s name in front of me again.”

“Nath- Neil, please.”

“Don’t say that word, Day. You know how much I love it.” replies Andrew cooly, not taking his eyes away from Neil’s.

Neil grins.  _ Ammunition.  _ He hasn’t felt this alive in years. “Why do you hate the word please so much, Minyard? Was it your mutt of a brother who ruined it for you? Was it-”

“Day, leave us to it.”

“Two seconds now. Get out of my way.”

“I’m not leaving you and Natha-  _ Neil-  _ alone. Andrew, leave and get Hernandez out.”

“One.”

“ _ Andrew.” _

“Day.”

“Get out of my way.”

“Good luck, rabbit-” 

Minyard’s words are cut off as Neil smashes his wrist into Minyard’s, making him twist the gun away from Neil’s head. To his credit, he doesn’t drop it, and instead aims a punch to Neil’s gut, which knocks the breath out of Neil; but he takes in stride, ducking under Kevin’s right hook and sliding under both of their reaches. 

Kevin slides his leg out and hooks his ankle around Neil’s; it sends the both of them tumbling to the floor. Neil recovers faster, but Andrew catches up to him and punches Neil in the kidneys- he spins, catches Andrew’s next fist and twists his arm.

Kevin comes up behind Neil, aims a punch to his temple, and Neil ducks while Andrew wrenches Neil’s arm behind his back. Neil slides a knife out from his sleeve and slashes a red stripe down the side of Andrew’s bicep- instinctively, Andrew lets go. Neil slides out of both of their grasps and sprints for the exit and toward Hernandez with his knife out. 

Kevin snatches the gun up from the ground and aims at Neil, and Andrew slides out two knives from his armbands before throwing one. It whistles through two strands of Neil’s hair and thuds into the wall in front of him. Neil makes it twelve more steps before a peppering of bullets puncture the plaster wall in front of him and he stops cold in his tracks. Their entire fight took less than thirty seconds.

Nathaniel feels a cold grin spread across his face and spins to face the two Foxes.

_ Fuck,  _ he thinks again. He really is getting rusty. 

“Is the show over?” Minyard calls out dryly. 

“No,” Nathaniel says. “You think this is a show?”

“I’m confused,” Andrew starts cheerfully. “Kevin told me you would be better than this.”

“Don’t  _ goad  _ him,” Kevin hisses. “We want to bring him to-”

Nathaniel wrenches Andrew’s knife out of the wall next to him and eyes it. He can see his reflection, and he can see that one of his contacts has slid just enough out of the way to reveal a ring of sharp blue. “Bring me to where?”

“Your thought process is astounding,” drawls Andrew. “Wesninskis are supposed to be sharper than this, aren’t they?”

“To Palmetto.” comes the answer from Kevin. 

Neil’s lungs almost stop working, and all his muscles seem to clench up at the same time. He should have known better than to stay sedentary in a place for too long. He let himself get used by Coach Hernandez- willingly put himself into harm’s way by making friends with Derrek and Louis and Morgan- he put innocent citizens in harm. Neil let himself get rusty. Mary would be furious-

His heart skips a beat. 

“You think bringing me to Palmetto is a good idea?” He laughs ruthlessly. “You have no  _ idea  _ what you’re getting yourself into. You think you know everything? You think putting me in the spotlight is going to-”

“You want to leave Riko in power?” challenges Kevin.

Nathaniel’s blood freezes. “You  _ left,  _ Day. You left Riko in power and you’re a  _ coward, you’re a spineless asshole-” _

“Don’t play that card, Nathaniel,” hisses Kevin. “You left too. You have no  _ right  _ to tell me what I can or cannot do-”

“You think  _ I  _ left because I was a coward like you?” Nathaniel lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Poor Kevin Day, the military’s son. How many scars do you have from Riko? How many times did he send men into your room-”

“Enough.” Kevin says sharply. Andrew’s gaze darts between the two and Nathaniel realizes they’ve switched into Japanese halfway through their argument. 

“Is the lover’s tiff over?” drawls Andrew.

“You  _ dare- _ ” 

“Nathaniel!” Kevin snaps. “Make a decision. Palmetto or Evermore.”

A low smile finds its way onto Nathaniel’s face. It’s his father’s smile. “So you’re asking me who would I prefer to be, then? Neil Josten or the son of the Butcher.”

“Personally, I’d rather see the son of the Butcher.” Andrew drawls. “At least then I’d have some competition.”

“Competition for what?”

Minyard grins. “He’s told you. Kevin here has this plan to get you to destroy the Moriyamas. He has some delusion of taking Ichirou and Riko out. He really is a spineless coward, isn’t he, if he’s recruiting someone who only hides and runs from danger-” 

“You are number five and a bastard,” Nathaniel snarls. “Let the adults speak here.”

“See, I wouldn’t threaten me. Not when you have no easy way to leave.” Andrew digs Nathaniel’s Transit out and flips it over. “Interesting device, and yet it tends to malfunction so quickly and so often. Makes for a lot of nasty burns when it overheats, doesn’t it?”

The words spiral around in Nathaniel’s head before settling in a jumbled mess. The Foxes must have somehow hacked his Transit- made it malfunction, made it burn up. 

He’s sure he could fight his way out and win against Minyard, but Day would be another question. They know each other too well, too much like two sides of the same coin. They match each other too well.

“Stooping so low as to hack a Transit?” “Nathaniel says derisively. He slides a cool glance toward Andrew’s right armband. “No wonder you wear those all the time, hm? Don’t want people realizing you were so close to the Perfect Court and then failing-”

Minyard’s grin falls off his face, and he strides forward until he and Nathaniel are face to face, and flicks a knife out toward Nathaniel’s jugular. “I  _ failed  _ because I could see through Riko’s psychopathic bullshit.”

“Or was it because you would have to leave your brother behind?” breathes Nathaniel, and suddenly his knife mirrors Andrew’s. “A truly weak point for a Doe who claims to be so  _ protective.” _

Minyard’s temper is fraying. Nathaniel loves this, loves pushing people to their edge. His mouth got him half the scars on his body and he knew it- and it only let him find others limits faster. 

A loud gunshot from behind them causes both Neil and Andrew to startle and turn around to see Kevin pointing a gun towards Hernandez, who just crumpled to the floor with a bullet lodged inside his forehead. Blood seeps out onto the floor and Neil’s old coach doesn’t get back up.

“Too much information for him to live.” Kevin slides a cool look over to Neil, who shrugs in apparent disinterest. “Cut the dick measuring contest. Are you joining the Foxes or no?”

“Your pathetic rebellion group?” Neil scoffs. In French: “ _ Also, off the record, my dick is bigger. _ ”

“ _ Jesus, Nathaniel _ .” groans Kevin. “And ‘pathetic?’ We took down half of their eastern defense line,” He argues. “And- never mind. You can either come with us on the plane or choose to end up like your coach. Spies never get what they deserve.”

For a second, they fell back into their old routine. The familiar banter, the casual grins. Neil hadn’t realized how much he missed Kevin until he was face to face with him again. 

_ Spies never get what they deserve.  _

_ Emotion is weakness,  _ Riko whispers. 

Nathaniel agrees with him.

Neil should not, but Neil still does.

“I’ll make this simpler for you,” Minyard says, a cruel smile plastered on his face. “Since Kevin here is refusing to leave without you, here’s a simpler ultimatum: go or die.” 

Nathaniel ignores him and takes three harsh steps forward, putting him inches apart from Kevin. He places a hand on his chest and shoves him forward. Obligingly, Kevin drops the gun.

“ _ You let him speak for you? _ ” Nathaniel spits in furious French. “ _ Number five? _ ”

“ _ I speak for myself. _ ” returns Kevin, in the same language. “ _ And I will not leave without you. _ ”

“ _ Fuck you. _ ” He hisses. Nathaniel’s hands shake out of anger and his vision triples. 

He can’t believe he’s been so  _ stupid.  _ Making friends, believing that he was comfortable, trusting his coach and his friends- he let down his guard and he let people in. Just like his mother warned him-

_ Don’t look back. Don’t slow down. Don’t trust anyone.  _

Now here he stands, with Kevin Day in front of him, trying to recruit him for the pitiful rebellion club he’s trying to build up from the ruins. Standing behind him is Kevin’s pathetic guard dog, a declawed cat, trying desperately to scare Nathaniel into buckling.

Nathaniel knows monsters. He lived with his father. He trained with Lola. He joined forces with Riko, he stood beside Ichirou. Those are monsters. They are capable of destruction.

Kevin Day is not a monster.

Andrew Minyard is not a monster.

Neil has his decision.

“Fine.” He lifts his chin up and meets Kevin’s eyes. “I’m going.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Kevin and a sharp laugh from Minyard. 

“The rabbit finally stops running,” Minyard says. “Caw caw, little birdie. Be careful not to get your wings clipped when  you leave.”

“Be careful with those claws, Minyard.” breathes Neil back. “Would be a shame if they got cut.”

Andrew cackles. “Interesting. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“Neil-” Kevin beckons. “Let’s go.”

Neil slides his knives back into his sheathes and twists Andrew’s knife calmly. Instead of handing it back to the blond, he pockets it and slides his duffel over his shoulder. Kevin offers him a gun. Neil takes it, fires a second shot into Hernandez’s dead, bloody body with barely a grimace, and holsters it.

_ Sorry, Louis, Derrek, and Morgan. Win your final game for me. _

Without looking back, he follows Kevin Day and Andrew Minyard outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok I'm so sorry this took so long but in my defense I was in a residential over the summer without my phone. It feels so good to have my computer again and to be writing and I have so many other stories planned out to write! 
> 
> thanks for reading and comments/kudos are appreciated and really make an author smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Nicky and Aaron.. big mood for tonight. 
> 
> Also, if it wasn't clear- the Minyards plus Nicky aren't part of the Foxes yet, they're basically just scavengers willing to do dirty and illegal work for a lot of cash. 
> 
> I don't know what updating is going to be like (I'm only just realizing how LONG a 7k word chapter is, it's literally eleven pages in size 10 font) but I'll probably have another chapter in a week or two from now (if people enjoy this fic.. we'll see).


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